


Crash The Party

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Family, Peter's a creep, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Tattoos, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is wearing Derek's shirt. Somewhere in the world, Derek Hale is shirtless.</p><p>Or the story of how Peter abandoned the pack in the middle of the desert, stole their IDs, and broke their cars. Revelations are to be had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash The Party

**Author's Note:**

> The _This Might Hurt_ campaigning thing the Teen Wolf tumblr has been promoting hurt me. I just want everyone to be happy. So I wrote this because the feels made me sad and tired and I have an hour long commute to and from work everyday in which I think of prompts.
> 
> Some things to note prior to reading:  
> -I know little to nothing about the colleges I've mentioned in this fic other that what I googled about them to check some general facts. I went to school in the Midwest and didn't know that many people from California.  
> -I have never been to Coachella but would give my left kidney to do so. It was this past weekend and and the set list posted online looked beautiful. I basically spent a lot of time on their website to get the info I needed for this.
> 
> There are a lot more notes at the bottom that cover other important things. This is in no way beta'd and any spelling or characterization mistakes are entirely my fault.
> 
> See you at the end.
> 
> 11/17/13: holy sh*t this needed to be edited _so bad_ so bless all of you that read this while it was rampant with errors.

When Stiles wakes up, he feels like he’s fallen at terminal velocity from the top of the Empire State building, collided with several cranes on the way down, and splattered on the cold concrete of New York City. The pounding in his head is so overwhelming he can feel his pulse and his body is protesting every movement. He blinks his eyes open slowly, pressing against his eyelids because his eyes burn from dryness.

The first thing he realizes is that he is not at home. Second, he is definitely not alone. Third, holy fuck, what did he drink or take because even vodka-wine hangovers are not this bad. 

Stiles glances around and holds a groan in his throat. Lydia, based solely on the hand draped across his waist, is breathing deep behind him. There’s a noise from the other side and based on the tone he assumes it's Allison. Scott should be somewhere, otherwise he has fallen into a very weird dream. Another minute of his brain threatening to explode and he scoots to the edge of the bed as gently as he can without waking the girls. Once he is standing he notices his shoes are still on and the shirt he is wearing is not his. 

So, there’s that.

Stiles glances around the room, some cheap motel by the dating of the wallpaper and state of the television. Sunlight is creeping in around the edges of the window, heavy curtains blocking what is sure to trigger an aneurism. Lydia and Allison’s heels are lying on the floor by the foot of the bed but from what he can tell, they don’t have bags with them. Stiles glances at his watch and walks into the bathroom in search of more information.

Scott’s passed out in the tub, curled up with what looks like the room’s entire stock of towels. He’s drooling out of one corner of his mouth onto the stained porcelain of the tub with abandon. Isaac’s hunched over the toilet, lid closed thankfully, and somehow relaxed though Stiles knows from experience that is not comfortable. He can’t see much due to lack of light except the tiny window above the toilet, but it doesn’t smell like puke. Stiles plucks one of the washcloths from Scott’s hoard, wets his face, brushes his teeth with his finger and water, and ventures back out to where the girls are still sleeping.

There’s a door slightly ajar on the long wall and Stiles hesitates before opening it. The room is just as dead as his own. There are two beds with the rest of the betas and Danny lying on top of them. Erica’s on her side next to Boyd, close but not touching. Boyd is still wearing his shirt and Stiles comes to the disconcerting conclusion that he’s wearing Derek’s shirt because no one else could have stretched the fabric out enough to swallow him. Derek, who is still missing. And needs to be found. Probably.

Danny is sprawled out across most of the queen he’s sharing with Jackson. The former kanima has an arm and leg thrown over his friend’s but it’s harmless. They are wolves, most of them at least; they have had years to get used to the platonic cuddling. Stiles looks around and checks their bathroom as well, but Derek’s not there.

The pounding in his head has subsided slightly but makes a valiant effort to flare the moment Stiles steps outside of the motel room. Wherever they are it is hot, there are no clouds, and _holy shit_ , that is a desert. Stiles wobbles down the stairs of the forward facing second floor exterior, squinting to count the cars in the parking lot. The Jeep is parked next to Allison’s Mazda 3, followed by a space, and then Lydia’s Volkswagen Golf. 

That shouldn’t seem out of character but it is. Years of growing up with a Sheriff as a father have taught Stiles to notice the simplest of changes in routine and their routine is skewed: the cars are not all parked together in a parking lot void of other cars. So either someone had moved the Golf or there was a fourth car at one point.

Stiles feels around for his keys, groping the belt loop he keeps the carabiner attached to when he’s busy and sighs, figuring he left them inside his baby. He stares in through the windows, trying to see if they are in the front seat or the floor but can’t find them. His headache flares when he bends over to retrieve the magnetic key box attached behind the hitch. The spare is missing, go figure, so Stiles goes to work popping the lock on the back window. It hasn’t worked properly in months: Isaac tried to fix it and instead of making the lock work with a key, the handle just has to be jerked and pushed against now.

By the time Stiles gets into the Jeep, unlocks the doors, and climbs into the front seat, he’s sweating. He pulls his phone from his pocket, happy that he at least has that, unlocks the screen and watches the little weather icon update in vain only to say it can’t find his location. He rolls his eyes, refreshes it three more times, and gets the same result before opening Google maps and has the GPS find him. The screen zooms from Beacon Hills, California to some Podunk little town fifty miles out of Phoenix. As in Arizona. He pulls the home screen back open and notices the time is an hour ahead of his watch and starts cursing.

It’s not the first time he has wound up in a new time zone overnight. There have been a handful of pack related dramas that have gone awry and run them miles and miles from home. Two years ago, they spent sixteen hours driving across up and across the US into Canada because some clan of witches kidnapped Lydia. About a year before that, two beta packs ran, _literally ran_ the wolves of the Hale pack across California into Nevada and on to Utah. The summer between junior and senior year of high school had been the worst, though. Derek went to New York to retrieve everything of his and Laura’s that had been in storage and of course nothing practical fit in the Camaro. Stiles came to the rescue and was rewarded with being subjected to a three week long endeavor. At least other members of the pack had tagged along even if Stiles had threatened to lock them in the U-Haul hooked to the hitch of the Jeep.

Stiles sets his phone down on top of the dash before looking around, searching for his keys or anything else of use. He goes through most of the interior before popping the glove box. His bags of emergency mountain ash and wolfsbane are still present as is a folded note. Stiles pulls the piece of paper out, shuts the glove box, and leans back into his seat. His lower back is sweaty and sticking to the leather and it is anything but comfortable.

The letter is written in fine cursive that is all too familiar. Peter has a habit of leaving post-its around Derek’s loft with reminders and the curl of the D in the first word is indicative of his handwriting. Stiles looks around the abandoned lot and starts reading.

_Dear betas of the Hale pack, (yes Stiles, this means you and your lot as well)_

_I hope you had a good nap. You may be wondering where you are. It’s a valid question but not one I am keen on answering. I’m sure you’ll figure it out quickly, what with Mister Mahealani’s way with computers and such. Alas, I’m drifting from the point._

_You are to stay here for the next three days. Room and board have all been paid in advance, courtesy of the dead members of my family and myself. Don’t think about leaving, pups, not that you really can. I’ve taken all of your IDs, including Scott’s fake. (McCall, why do you even have one still? You have been twenty one for over a year.)_

_The story only gets better. Should you find your wallets, your credit cards and cash have been taken as well. Don’t worry, you’ll get everything back. In three days via priority mail. As for your cars, I now have a lovely collection of fuses and keys. Do with that what you will._

_There’s a diner down the road who we’ve paid to feed you when the need arises. Your clothes are in Miss Martin’s Golf. Oh, and the owners of the fine establishment you are staying in_ know _about us, so don’t bother trying to get kicked out._

_My dearest nephew and I have affairs to attend to that neither betas nor humans should be privy to. Do not try to contact us. You will get everything back on Monday. Enjoy your vacation._

_Best,  
Peter Hale_

_PS: One of you may or may not have a small tracking device planted on your person. Try to leave and we will know. There will be consequences._

That makes Stiles laugh despite the situation due to the irony. He vaguely wonders if Peter knows two of the betas already have microchips embedded in their bodies. Scott’s was a complete accident; it had happened before he was bitten and gained all the healing powers. He had been assisting with implanting a microchip in a spunky Labrador retriever puppy, scrambled to keep said puppy from jumping off the exam table while checking to make sure the chip read, and wound up stabbing himself in the midst of tripping over his feet. The puppy, which had still jumped off the table, attacked the syringe, bit down on the plunger, and inserted the chip. The puppy was rewarded with treats for sitting still when its microchip was inserted and Deaton made Scott re-write all the paperwork after he used surgical glue to close the wound. Scott still has the scar and the microchip still reads.

Isaac’s story was less accidental and more cocky behavior and stubborn teenage attitude. Scott had told him the story of his microchip sometime during their junior year of high school and Isaac asked Deaton one day if he stuck a microchip in his arm, if the werewolf healing process would push it back out. Deaton had just stared at him, said the microchips cost forty dollars, and if he wanted, he would be sure to have Scott fill out the registration in Derek’s name. Scott collapsed in laughter, Isaac grit his teeth, and Deaton told them to go finish cleaning the kennels. Isaac decided to take the experiment into his own hands, bet Scott the cost of the microchip and stabbed himself in the thigh. He whined when he inserted it, pulled the needle out, and Scott pulled the pain away. In doing so, the wound closed before the microchip could push its way out. For Christmas that year, Scott gave Isaac his registration papers. Derek yelled at them both and said the microchip company kept sending him reminders to keep all his information up to date. 

The pack collectively broke into tears from laughing so hard. Isaac hid in his room for an hour and Stiles bowed at Scott’s feet in praise. Danny was tasked with removing Isaac’s information from the microchip company’s database but decided last minute it should stay because Scott had registered him as a seventeen year old neutered male teacup poodle. Last Stiles checked, Derek still got yearly reminders from Deaton’s clinic for being over-due on Isaac’s shots. Scott had gone all out and Isaac still gets defensive when they bring the story up.

The whirling reality they were stranded in the middle of the fucking desert with no ID, money, or transportation comes slamming back with another hot breeze passing through the open door of the Jeep. Stiles folds the letter, slides from the SUV, and ducks underneath the dash to pry the fuse case open. Sure enough, every fuse had been taken. Even if he could jump start the thing, there would be no way to get anything else to work. The Jeep is an old lady too and some of the fuses she requires are hard to find.

For the tenth time in the past hour, Stiles mutters _fuck_ under his breath. He closes the door, stomps up the stairs of the motel, and spends half an hour trying to get everyone awake enough to talk. By the time the girls and the room of betas are awake, the bathroom is filled with the sound of puking followed by Scott moaning and then more retching. It sets off a trigger for the rest of the wolves and the humans step out into the desert heat.

They sit on the concrete, dangled through the black iron hand railing. Lydia is sitting next to Danny, sunglasses she left in Stiles’ Jeep perched on her nose to hide the fact she is asleep. Allison is sprawled across Stiles’ lap, punching him in the leg every time he jerks as the migraine flares. He gives the betas another fifteen minutes before pulling his phone out to call Scott. The line rings twice before going straight to voicemail.

Stiles rings each of the betas in succession, turning his phone over several times and checking he settings. He asks Danny to call him to check if signal was lying and Danny does. What’s odd is that his phone never rings, doesn’t even indicate he’s received a missed call or voicemail. Danny makes a face before turning his phone off and motioning for Stiles to hand his over.

Scott comes trudging out of the motel room a few minutes later. He’s pale, sopping wet where he probably stood underneath the shower head, and has a goopy black patch on his chest. He plops down next to Stiles, buries his face in his best friend’s shoulder, and asks in front of everyone:

“Dude, why are you wearing Derek’s shirt?”

\- - -

Somewhere in the world, Derek Hale is shirtless. In the Camaro. Shirtless in the Camaro is many a scenario Stiles has had about the alpha while daydreaming. But now, for real, Derek is somewhere shirtless and probably driving the Camaro. Or he’s stretching out another one of Stiles’ shirts only to return it a month later with a blood stain.

“You have been voming for like, twenty minutes, and that is the first question you ask me? Not, Stiles, where are we? Or Stiles, is Allison alright?” Stiles pushes his shoulder against Scott’s face in retaliation. “Not even a how are you this fine, um, afternoon?”

“Easy on the volume, bro,” Scott says, placing a shaky hand on top of Allison’s head. “Allison’s heart rate is normal, she doesn’t smell like sick, and everyone is accounted for except Derek.”

“Don’t be a wise ass, Scott.”

“Seconded,” Danny pipes in, busy extracting pieces of Stiles’ phone. “You reek.”

“Ah, that would be the werewolf puke. Someone poisoned us. I can still taste the wolfsbane and it’s not the good kind we mix in booze. I’m pretty sure Isaac may be dead. He was crying into the toilet.”

“And you left him?” Allison muses. She smiles lightly before sitting up and falling into Lydia’s lap. “Lydia, go fetch your puppy. Go fetch both of your puppies. Someone should go check on Erica and Boyd as well.”

“We’re here.”

Erica and Boyd slide down against the outer wall of their room, both equally as pale and covered in black goo patches. The blonde has her hand in Boyd’s shirt, as though walking the thirty feet from the bathroom had been a challenge. Stiles turns around to face her.

“How are you holding up?”

“Boyd just puked all over my jeans,” Erica moans, motioning the blotch on her left thigh. “Nothing is sacred anymore.”

“I held your hair back. I get points for at least trying to get in the sink. I’m pretty sure Jackson is still dry heaving because you hit the toilet’s flush on your fall into the bathtub.”

Erica rolls her eyes, pushes her hair to one side, and leans back against the wall. Boyd makes a noise and does the same, both quiet for a moment before exchanging a look. Danny curses and sets Stiles’ phone down to pick apart his own.

“Why are you wearing our alpha’s shirt?”

“Oh my god, how drugged are you? Why is this such a concern? Has no one noticed we are in a fucking desert?”

“Stilinski, stop with the yelling,” Jackson says as he joins the group. “Someone explain the wolfsbane.”

“It wasn’t me,“ Lydia comments, frowning at her phone. “Danny, look at mine too. Please.”

“Why is Danny prying everyone’s phones apart?” Scott says, wiping his face against Stiles’ sleeve. 

“Neither of ours are making or receiving calls but the signal is fine.”

“It’s probably a bug.” Allison sits up, wipes at her face, and lies back down with her back on the concrete. “Dad’s used them before. They mess with your phone so you can still use it for the internet and stuff, but speaking to anyone is impossible. But I’m not sure why someone would bug your phones. Unless there is a hit out on you. If that’s true, Stiles, I want details.”

“I think it was Peter. Or Derek, I don’t know. Probably Peter. Lydia, please go get Isaac. I’m getting worried and I think Scott’s trying to rub his scent into my skin to mask Derek’s.”

“Fine.” “You smell weird, I can’t help it.” “Like you smell any better.” “We all reek.” “Stop yelling, jeez.”

Lydia stands, bracing herself against the railing before stepping inside the room. She returns a minute later with the gentlest of the beta’s, skin covered in a visible sheen of sweat and bags under his eyes. Isaac is wrapped in one of the itchy blankets from the closet despite the dry heat of the desert.

“Hey buddy, how you feeling?”

“Fuck my life, Stiles. Fuck my life. Why did I wake up spooning the toilet? Why did I just puke all over the bathroom floor?” Isaac pauses, sniffs the air, and scrunches his nose. “Why do you smell like Derek?”

“For the love of god, that is a conversation for later because our lovely resident creep left me a letter in the Jeep.”

“Story time,” Erica mumbles with a laugh.

Stiles rolls his eyes before reading the letter Peter wrote, pushing along even though the pack starts picking at each other. When he reaches the end, the betas snicker. Isaac makes a noise, buries his face into his blanket, and hides behind Lydia.

“So, what now?” Allison is finally upright and Scott has detached himself from Stiles. “We literally have nothing of value, our phones don’t work, the cars are dead, the police would think we’re crazy, and I for one know I smell.”

“Showers. Showers, debugging of phones, food. And then we figure out what’s happened in the past thirty hours because the last thing I remember is crashing at home Friday. And that was at like two in the morning.” Stiles folds the letter closed, slips it back into his pocket, and sighs. “I didn’t even think you all would be home.”

“I don’t think we were,” Erica says, picking at a spot of goop. “Pretty sure Boyd and I were still in Sacramento.”

“I have a Friday morning class with Danny,” Jackson offers. “We were in Palo Alto.”

“You saw me Thursday morning. I had a meeting with my advisor that afternoon. Isaac came over that night so we could figure out how to move our shit across the state,” Lydia says, lips curling into a grin. “We’re going to be masters students.”

“I was in San Diego. There was a conference there this weekend that I wanted to attend.” Allison frowns. “And now I’m out two hundred bucks.”

“Fuck, we are going to miss class next week.” “It’s our last week of classes.” “Finals start in a week.”

A repetition of _fucks_ follow.

The pack sits in their circle for another minute before retrieving their clothes from the trunk of the Golf. It’s full of everyone’s emergency kits: they learned back in high school having a bag with the essentials - toiletries, clothes, snack foods, cash [the cash is gone] - is a must when one runs with wolves. Everyone grabs their bags before shuffling back into the hotel rooms. 

The betas all shower first, tasked with cleaning the messes they made earlier. Stiles turns the television on, climbs back on the bed, and flips through channels. Lydia lies down next to him and starts chatting about moving. They’ll both be off to Stanford in the fall and since Palo Alto is on the way to Beacon Hills, they plan on moving everything up on their way home for the summer.

Stiles leaves the television on AMC as the channel runs _Die Hard_ for the umpteenth time. He wrings his wrist, playing with the wristbands that encircle them. There are two thick ones, _Coachella_ written across the bracelets in bold writing. A few others join them on either wrist, bracelets that got them into to several back stages or bars. Stiles smiles, feels himself blush, and thumbs at the one on his right wrist.

\- - -

When his father had asked him what he wanted for his twenty second birthday, Stiles had pondered for all of two minutes before declaring he wanted weekend passes to Coachella. The Sheriff rolled his eyes - they were on the phone but Stiles _totally_ knows his dad rolled his eyes - said it should be something more practical, but sent him the confirmation number a week later. Stiles asked Lydia to come and she invited the whole pack. 

Isaac was the only other one who could make it, was and is the only other one that goes to school in LA. The rest of the pack was busy finishing up undergrad and they had celebrated Stiles’ birthday during spring break in anticipation of being busy. Stiles understood, told everyone they still owed him shots, and texted Lydia. Derek called him that afternoon and said he was coming because Erica chewed his ass out for not wanting to expand his music tastes. Stiles went silent, mumbled an okay, and said he would text him the link for the tickets. Derek hung up and replied an hour later with a curt ‘ _see you next weekend_ ’.

Lydia had found him sitting in the middle of their living room with a mostly empty bottle of wine, a half-eaten tub of hummus, and a loaf of French bread. Stiles had just looked at her, said Derek was coming with them, and fallen forward into the carpet still clutching the bread. The strawberry blond just laughed, called him _honey_ in the least condescending tone she could muster, and sat down before swiping the wine.

Throughout high school, Derek had scared the shit out of Stiles most of the time. He was this big bad alpha with a shitty history and an even worse attitude. Sophomore and junior years were one disaster after another, and even with the pack coming together, things between them were always tense. Stiles likes to believe their multiple instances with death and saving one another broke them after a while, and by senior year they actually considered each other friends. It changed the summer after the pack graduated.

Erica was the first to know and least surprised. Stiles hadn’t even been talking, she had just blurted it out, point-blank asked when he realized he was kind of head over heels for Derek. Stiles had flushed, denied the whole thing, made a joke at Erica’s expense. Isaac was present, said ‘ _Stiles, you guys having been flirting since you were sixteen. This is nothing new and I’m tired of having to up the pot on when you two get together_ ’. 

Stiles inherently knows that something, an unnameable dance of sorts, has been going on between them since that first day in the woods. It’s been subtle flirting and teasing, riling each other up because it gets their points across, the pack deferring to Stiles half the time instead of their alpha. It’s been dozens of instances of what ifs, too many occurrences of being shoved into hard objects, the almost permanent scent of low-grade arousal Scott said he had to cut out whenever they were around Derek after they graduated high school. Stiles has known there’s been _something_ there for years. That didn’t mean he was ready to admit it to Derek or let the rest of the pack know, not back then at least.

Stiles had hit Isaac in the shoulder, wanted to know that status of the pool on his relationship with their alpha, and demanded a portion of the share. Boyd showed up an hour later, said nothing for a while before stating he was in charge of all pack related pools and there was a forty dollar buy in. He then divulged the long list of other bets, the highlight including the long-since-over bet as to whether Peter would ever tell them embarrassing stories about when Derek was a child. He did, included pictures he'd managed to scrounge up after the fire, and Derek broke his jaw.

Four years in college has done Stiles good. He’s grown into himself, lanky limbs and all, calmed enough the ADHD doesn’t cause as many problems. He’s dated, sure, kissed a few pretty girls in his department, but there has always been this ‘what if’ situation when it came to Derek. Stiles thinks that is what kept him from ever falling into bed with the first girl or guy who offered. It’s why Derek going to Coachella with them was initially so disconcerting.

Stiles rolls onto his back, buries his face in the pillow, hardly acknowledging what Lydia is saying. He barely notices Isaac come out of the bathroom so Scott can go in. He just stares at his forearms, still getting used to the golden tint three days in the sun caused.

Derek had met them in Pasadena before they drove out to the valley Coachella was held every year. The Jeep made it there in one piece, they checked into their room - one king and a pull out couch -, hit the pre-concert festivities and drank themselves into a happy stupor. Derek actually engaged in conversation and Stiles considered it a win.

Hanging out with Lydia and Isaac was easy, like it always was, but it did not go unnoticed the way Lydia held on to the beta’s hand most of the night. She and Jackson had broken up over a year before in a completely amiable manner, still talked all the time, were easier to be around now. Everyone knew Isaac had a crush on Lydia back in high school and if it made them happy, Stiles wasn’t going to say anything.

They spent Friday bouncing around the tents during the morning, grabbing lunch, then settling at the dance themed stage for the rest of the afternoon and night. The place was tightly packed and only got worse with every new artist. The thing Stiles liked most about music festivals and concerts in general was the intimacy of seeing an artist perform their music, watching them completely in the zone. The thing he liked least was the lack of personal space. After they stepped outside the tent to eat dinner, Stiles dragged Lydia to the bar, got them shitfaced in fifteen minutes, and returned before the next set.

Lydia was a giggling mess and clung to his arm while Isaac kept her upright. Stiles was just as bad and wavered around until Derek finally gave in and placed an arm across his lower back. The headliner of the night started, more people filed in, the group got pushed closer. Stiles spent the next hour letting the booze control his dancing. He didn’t ignore the way Derek shifted him in front and kept a tight hold on his hips.

The walk back to the hotel was all chatter about who to see the next day and who got the bathroom first. When Stiles would stray away from the group, Derek pulled him back in, muttered insults under his breath, and guided him to their hotel. Stiles fell asleep giddy and smiling.

Saturday had been much the same, just with more bouncing between stages. Every time, Stiles found some way to end up right next to or in front of Derek. Lydia gave him an all knowing smirk and Isaac’s grin agreed. Derek looked like he wanted to maim anyone who got close and for that reason alone, Stiles bought him lunch. They spent two hours lounging on some abandoned patch of lawn, soaking up sun they were used to but never utilized. 

It was weird, in a way, to see Derek out of his long sleeved henleys, dark washed jeans, and leather jacket. Derek of that weekend was more relaxed all around. Stiles texted Erica when he disappeared to use the restroom and she had just replied with ‘ _the ball’s in your court, Stilinski. get your man_ ’. Stiles spent the rest of the day trying to do so.

Sunday was spent mostly at the main stage with minimal bouncing around. They sat far back on the lawn, sprawled out on blankets they had thought to grab from the Jeep. The artist’s performances were loud over the crowd but the members of the pack chatted like nothing else was going on. For the first time that weekend, Derek didn’t look like he wanted to kill someone and it occurred to Stiles cramming werewolves into very loud environments was a horrible idea.

The exhaustion coupled with the folk band on stage eventually sent Stiles into a barely conscious state. He had rolled over on his side, facing away from Derek, and drifted the entire set. At one point he thought he heard the alpha singing but Derek denied it happening. They threw everything back in the Jeep before returning to the main stage for the last few headliners of the weekend. Isaac led their group through the already packed mass of people and Derek offered his hand to Stiles so he wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Stiles didn’t let go for an hour and Derek never pulled away.

The man had driven them back to campus after encore of the last set, pulling the Jeep into the spot next to Camaro. Mumbled goodnights were exchanged before Lydia and Stiles dispersed to their rooms and showered. In the morning, Stiles went to class and came back to Isaac cooking lunch and Derek still passed out on the couch.

Stiles woke Derek up with a plate of food and they had eaten in silence while reruns of _River Monsters_ played on the television. When they were done, Derek gathered all of his things and Stiles followed him down to the parking lot before stalling awkwardly as the alpha fumbled with his keys. 

Whatever had happened, whatever the hand holding and touching had meant, Stiles didn’t want it to end. By the look on Derek’s face, he didn’t either. But then fifteen year old Stiles had acted out: he had thanked Derek with a laugh as he ran a hand through his hair, rolled back on his heels and started to turn around. The alpha had grabbed his wrist, pulled him into a hug, and said he’s see him at Scott and Allison’s graduation. He’d then placed a kiss on Stiles’ forehead, mumbled a happy birthday, climbed into the Camaro and drove away.

It’s been two weeks and they haven’t talked about it. The only thing he has talked to Derek about is whether or not he could pick up some moving boxes from the police station and bring them to Scott’s graduation. Derek said yes and that was it.

Stiles doesn’t know why he’s wearing Derek’s shirt. All he knows is that he wants it to keep happening, wants to fall asleep in Derek’s bed, wants to know what it actually feels like to kiss him. The sex and unadulterated bliss that would follow would just be a plus.

Stiles doesn’t know why he’s wearing Derek’s shirt. All he knows is that he doesn’t care as long as this isn’t the last time.

\- - -

“I got the bug out of your phone, Stiles.” Danny’s freshly showered and plops down on to the bed next to Stiles. “Peter wiped your contacts list though.”

“I have back-up assistant, I’ll be fine. Did you fix yours?”

“Yeah. My phone reset itself though, so I lost everything.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

Lydia comes out of the bathroom drying her hair with the beach towel she keeps in the trunk of the Golf, dressed in clothes that are still glamorous after spending two years in the trunk. She drops the towel on the dresser before pulling a cardigan out of her bag, shrugs it over her shoulders, and pulls her hair into a side pony. Stiles’ eyes catch the small tattoo on her upper left shoulder and he frowns.

It’s not that he finds tattoos distasteful, the opposite really. But Lydia’s tattoo is the freshest in the pack, the penultimate member of their triskelion theme. Hers is the easiest to miss because she usually has her hair down, and even with her ever current fashion, off the shoulder clothes hardly make it obvious. Stiles knows exactly what it looks like because he was not only present when she had it done, but he’s seen her wear enough tank tops while studying to know it isn’t just a trick of the eye.

Scott had been the first one of the pack to ever get a tattoo, years before he was even legally allowed. He and Stiles had gone two towns over, used their fakes, and Scott came out with two black bands around his left bicep. They drove back to Deaton’s clinic, broke in at twelve at night, and scoured the assortment of wolfsbane the veterinarian kept on hand until they found the species Isaac had said would work. Stiles crushed the petals up, diluted them with water, dipped gauze pads in the bowl, and applied them to the tattoo as quickly as he could before Scott started wolfing out.

When Scott had posed the idea, one week into the ordeal with the Alphas, neither knew whether the ink would even stay or if he’d heal too quickly. Scott asked Isaac to talk to Derek about how he got his tattoo - at that point no one was helping each other out and it was each pack for themselves - and was honestly surprised when Derek gave his beta a straight answer. ‘ _You have to apply wolfsbane or something like it to the tattoo after you get it. Use the correct strain and it will slow the healing process enough to let the ink settle. Laura let me learn the hard way and the triskele on my back had to be done twice before it stayed_.’

Stiles got his first tattoo when he was eighteen. Erica had volunteered to go with him, interested in her own, and browsed while Stiles flipped through the artists’ books of sketches and pieces. The pack was close by then, had eased into being one large group with minimal backlash. Stiles was the second of them to turn eighteen and wanted something permanent to remind himself he’d actually made it to adulthood. Erica leaned over his shoulder when he settled on one page for longer than ten seconds, smiled into his sleeve, and said ‘ _that’s the one, right?_ ’ An hour later he came out of the building with a tribal like rich maroon wolf howling at nothing inked across the side of his left ribs. Erica beamed, made a comment about marking himself as pack for life, and asked if he would go with her the following weekend to get her own. 

Erica sweet talked the man at the front desk with lots of cleavage and lip biting and got a small triskele tattooed behind her right ear. Derek’s approval was sought first, because it was modeled after his, and after receiving a stern nod, the rest of the pack decided a trend was in order. Over the passing years, each has gone through the process of being inked, subjected themselves to wolfsbane poisoning, and ended up with a symbol that has come to define their group.

No one has theirs in the same place and each has taken liberty with the size. It means something different to every person but it is the only thing that permanently links them all together despite being scattered around the state. Allison’s spirals are turned to the other way, Lydia’s is purple for obvious reasons. Isaac’s swirls are extended farther out and not as tightly curled against his chest, hiding a scar Stiles thinks Mr. Lahey left there to remind Isaac of what he thought he was worth. Danny’s was done in white and fluoresces under blacklight; he wins hands down.

Stiles is the only member, human or wolf, who has yet to get his own. He wouldn’t need the wolfsbane bandages, wouldn’t need someone to pull the pain from the wound so it would heal painlessly. And as much as he loves his pack, considers them as much family as he does his father and Melissa McCall, there’s something finite to it. Like if he marks his body with something like that, it’s the end. 

The logical part of his brain also provides that it is a symbol Derek considers very much intimate. Like branding himself with the triskele would mean he would belong to Derek. Stiles always shudders at the thought, brain clouded with the implications of marking his skin as belonging to an alpha, _his_ alpha, and has been stalling ever since.

Derek asked him why during spring break while they were standing next to the bar of some restaurant in downtown Beacon Hills waiting for the bartender to make enough drinks the pack would be satisfied for a while. Stiles had shrugged, shifted his weight between his feet, and offered a cautious smile. ‘ _I think the wolf is enough of a statement for now, don’t you think?_ ’ he’d asked, waving a hand above where the tattoo laid hidden beneath his shirt. Derek had agreed almost regrettably and dropped the subject.

Stiles places his phone on the counter as he strips down and steps into the shower. The water is cold from overuse but it doesn’t faze him. He takes his time, using his own towel, the one he keeps in the Jeep for trips to the beach, and presses against his tattoo before pulling his shirt over his head. He throws Derek’s shirt into his bag before the pack leaves the safety of their rooms and wanders into the desert.

\- - -

“You should have seen your face! I thought you were going to implode, Stiles.” Erica’s grinning at him from across the booth, nudging his foot with her boot. “Oh god, your pulse skyrocketed.”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Stiles groans into his hands where he’s currently hiding his face. “And agree to never, ever tell Derek?”

“He’d probably be happy about it,” Isaac offers, picking at the innards of his and every other pack member’s phones that lay across the table. “He technically is your alpha too.”

“Yes, but the way that lady said it.” Stiles groans again and slumps onto the table surface. “I fucking hate Peter. Whatever that asshole told her, I’m going to kill him.”

“Not until he gives us our stuff back.”

A table wide conversation turns into an agreement. A waitress comes by, takes their orders with a scowl, and says it will be a while before the kitchen can meet their demands. Boyd smiles at her kindly, compliments her hair, and asks if they can get refills. She blushes before smiling and the rest of the betas snicker.

“Shit.” Stiles makes another noise and tilts his head back against the booth.

“What?” is asked by no less than three people.

“Peter has my license.”

“And?” Jackson quips, eyebrows scrunching into one of his many ‘idiot’ looks. 

“My license has my first name on it. My real first name.”

The pack bursts into more snickers, like they are back in high school and it is senior skip day. Lydia pats his shoulder, Scott mimics the motion on his arm, Jackson cackles because he’s an ass. Erica smirks and it’s just as devious as ever.

“Ready to tell us yet?” she asks, twirling the straw in her soda.

“Nope. If anyone here finds out first, it’s Scott.”

“Ten years dude, _ten years_ and you still won’t tell me. I thought our parents dating would, ya know, give me the upper hand because my mom would get your dad to talk. But no. No one tells me anything.”

“I gave you a clue three years ago.”

“Starts with a G and impossible to pronounce is not a clue.”

“That’s all you get.”

“Peter’s the biggest gossip in the pack. He’ll spill, Stilinski. Or Lydia will set him on fire,” Jackson offers and Danny snatches something from his hand.

“You know me so well, Jackson.” Lydia bats her eyes at her ex and Allison giggles. “New bet, Boyd.”

“Place your bets, people. The house is open.”

“Oh my god, I need new friends. You all suck.”

Lunch is spent bickering, devouring food as soon as it is placed on the table, waiting for Danny to fix their phones. Jackson, Erica, and Isaac have iPhones, but there’s a virus that can’t be removed without a laptop so they are down a few phones. Danny eats between removing the bugs, content to just work while the pack dissolves into every theory they can think of for why Peter would dump them in Arizona of all places.

“Maybe Peter’s going to kill him,” Scott offers, completely honest. “Derek’s strong, yeah, but Peter kicked his ass when they sparred over winter break.”

“Nah, he’s too much of a diva to have something that grand go unnoticed. Dad would arrest him within the day too.” Stiles pushes bits of lettuce across his plate, sighing. “What would they need to do that we wouldn’t be safe participating in?”

“Meeting with the hunters?” Isaac asks

“They haven’t been scared of us since we took down the Alphas. I wasn’t even there and I know that.”

“Take the attitude down a level, Jackson.” Danny looks up from Scott’s phone, smiling in a way he only shares with his best friend. “Maybe we are embarrassing them in front of the other packs in California.”

“I’m going to nix that as well.”

“Oh! What if one of them is in heat?” The entire table stares at Erica. “What? It could happen.”

“Oh my god.” “No way.” “Why would you even say that?” “Fuck.” “Babe, no. Just no.”

“Well, someone else figure it out then.” Erica huffs and crosses her arms. “I’m out of ideas.”

“It could be territory negotiations. I overheard my dad a few months ago say the other packs near Beacon Hills haven’t met with the Hales since the fire to discuss territory and boundaries.”

“Why would we need to be gone though? And two states away. If anything happened it would still take us almost a day to get home.”

“Keeps us safe.”

“The pack’s stronger in numbers. We know that, Derek’s given us that speech a hundred times,” Stiles sighs, dropping his fork. “If anything it would make us look weak.”

“Maybe the other packs don’t like that you’re still human.” Isaac steals a fry from Erica’s plate and she looks ready to bite him if he does it again.

“I doubt it. The Hales were a mix of wolves and humans. I think that’s just normal for families born wolves.” Scott slumps down a little, frowning. “Why would a pack built by an alpha from a family like his be treated any different?

“Maybe it’s because you’ve never asked for the bite," Lydia directs at Stiles. "I mean, Peter bit me but I’m immune. Allison’s family is made of hunters - that’s just asking to have a bounty placed on your head.”

“What if it’s because our numbers haven’t changed in years?” Danny clicks the back of Scott’s phone back on and slides it across the table. “It’s only normal to keep expanding over time. I was the last one to join and that was like five years ago. And it’s not like any of us are planning on having kids yet. Derek’s not going to go around biting anyone new either.”

“Who knows.” Stiles pulls his call list up on his phone, wanting to hit himself for not checking it before. “So, Derek apparently called me at four in the morning on Friday.”

The rest of the pack, minus Allison and Boyd, turn their phones on and start flicking through screens. Each has a call from Derek around the same time, all lasting around two minutes. Whatever they had talked about, it had been enough to rouse everyone before the sun rose and get them to drive to Arizona of all places.

They finish picking at their last bits of food, thank the waitress for dealing with them, ignore the odd look she gives them when they say they will see her later. They wander the desolate little town for another two hours, walk in and out of every shop out of boredom. The residents of the town stare at them because if it wasn’t obvious due to their age and clothing, they clearly weren’t thereby choice. 

By the time they return to the motel, everyone is sweating in the most unpleasant of places. The owner steps out of the main office as they walk by, saying there are washers and dryers downstairs if they need to wash their clothes and she can give them detergent. Erica is all over that, collects as much as the owner is willing to give them, and makes the rest of the pack gather all of their puked on clothes. The wolves wash everyone's because the humans have no desire to handle clothes that smell like ripe vomit.

They all squish into the betas' room, laying across the beds, the couch, and the arm chair. Allison steps away while the wolves switch their clothes to dry and calls her father to let him know she went on a last minute trip with Lydia and Erica for some girl time. Chris doesn’t push and Allison hangs up feeling a little guilty for lying to her dad. 

Stiles decides to hang back on their way to dinner, calling his dad when the pack is a hundred feet ahead. They’ll still be able to hear but the man has to be freaking out when his son drove seven hours to get home and disappeared the next morning. At least he thinks that until the Sheriff lets his phone go to the last ring before answering “Sheriff Stilinski” in a tone that means he’s about to go on the night shift.

“Hey, dad.”

“Stiles, what’s up son?”

“Well. That depends.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Stiles.” It comes out in that disappointing tone Stiles always hated and he runs a hand through his hair before the Sheriff repeats his name again.

“You know how I was supposed to come home this weekend?”

“Sure. But I know you’re busy with finals coming up and graduation. Getting excited yet?”

“Of course! But that’s not the point.”

“Sure it is. Don’t worry about not coming home, I got your text yesterday.” And that’s odd because he knows he didn’t text his father and there is certainly no text in his message history saying he wouldn’t be coming home. The Sheriff wasn’t there when he got home because he always works the night shift on Thursdays but surely he should have noticed the disheveled bed and missing leftovers. “Melissa said she could bring some of our suitcases with her to Scott and Allison’s graduation next weekend if you still need them. You sure you want to move everything right after you graduate? We could just keep it here so you don’t have to pay a rent at a storage place.”

Stiles scrunches his nose before noticing Scott has stopped walking with the group to wait for him. The beta mimics his facial expression before crossing his arms. Stiles shrugs and answers his father.

“Yeah, that will be fine. And yes, I still want to move my stuff to Palo Alto. The house is too cramped to keep an entire apartment’s worth of furniture.”

“True.” His dad pauses and he hears the radio mumble in the background. “Did I tell you Derek came by the station the other day?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, trying his hardest not to let his voice waver.

“Said you sent him on an errand. I’m pretty sure that boy stuffed every single cardboard box we had lying around into the back of his car.” Derek is certainly not a boy: he’s twenty eight and his freakishly good looks show it. His dad laughs to himself and Stiles knows he’s grinning. “He also told me he went with you all to your little concert.”

Stiles stops walking. He makes a desperate motion for Scott to go away because he does not need him nor the rest of the pack to hear this conversation. Scott throws his hands up in the air after Stiles kicks at him and the pack turns around suspiciously. Stiles puts a hand over the speaker and yells at them to stop eavesdropping.

“You didn’t mention that the last time we spoke. You were all ‘it was awesome dad, thank you so much, you’re the best. I have a tan now it’s so weird. The Jeep didn’t die, I’m so proud of her.’ Derek seemed taken aback, Stiles, that you hadn’t mentioned it.”

“I didn’t think it was important. He came, he actually socialized with people weren’t pack or werewolves, he went home. Lydia made him sleep on the pull out with Isaac.”

“Uh-huh.” Oh shit, the Sheriff is totally not convinced. “Look, I’m not going to bug you anymore about your little whatever it is with Hale, but keep in mind that man spends a lot of time coming to visit you all. I think he’s looking forward to everyone coming home just as much as Melissa, Chris, and I are.”

“I know.”

“He’s coming to your graduation, too, you know that right?”

“Yeah.” And that has to be a lie because Erica and Boyd are graduating the same day and Derek made a promise to Erica years ago that he’d be the one in the stands taking pictures since her family disowned her. “Can’t graduate unless I pass Physics though. Speaking of which, I should probably go. Lydia wants to read my notes through and tell me what’s wrong with them.”

“Okay. Tell her I say hello. Isaac, too.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“You too, son.”

Stiles hangs up before shouting incoherent words at the sky. The pack turns around in the distance and people across the street stare at him like he’s crazy. It doesn’t really matter because even his father, the freaking Sheriff of Beacon Hills, knows he has it bad for Derek Hale.

\- - -

When they had all been seniors in high school, debating where and if they wanted to go to college, it had been an almost unanimous decision to stay within the state. Stiles knew it was a testy subject to bring up with Derek; they were so recently a complete pack that the idea of everyone leaving would surely distress him. The betas, the ones he bit, understood as well because they had always had a closer connection with the alpha than the rest of the pack had. 

Isaac had been the one to breach that barrier. He may not have been second in command of the betas like Boyd, or even up there in ranking like Stiles, but Derek always listened him. He was Derek’s favorite of the wolves because he was the first and only beta that stayed through everything, never strayed completely away from the pack. He was living with Derek too, because his house was one nightmare wrapped in another. So Isaac was the one who brought it up at their bi-weekly pack meeting one Sunday in October.

Each of them had a list of top five schools, both in and out of the state. Lydia came prepared with a handout and Stiles had made a PowerPoint that was more for his father but seemed relevant to share with the pack as well. Derek called them both idiots and said they could go wherever they liked, he wasn’t their parent, they’d have ways of staying in touch even if they were across the country. Stiles didn’t believe that for one moment. Neither did any of the wolves although Scott swore Derek’s pulse never jumped.

Allison and Scott had agreed on going to the same college months before, Erica and Boyd too. Danny and Jackson were both planning on riding lacrosse scholarships to whichever school offered to most financial aid in the state. Lydia wouldn’t accept anything but a top ten school because she was brilliant and deserved no less. Stiles wanted a school that would offer him good opportunities for work study, because wherever he went, financial aid would be paying most of his tuition. Isaac just wanted to go somewhere other than Northern California, somewhere where no one still gave him pitiful looks after they remember what happened to his father; that Derek understood more than anything.

So as the year progressed, each applied to anywhere from two to ten different universities and colleges. Derek became an expert on reading cover letters and college application essays. Lydia made them all study for the SAT and Allison made them study for the ACT. Stiles ended up taking both because the test patterns had been drilled into his brain enough that he could visualize the test before he ever sat down in a stuffy classroom with only his calculator, pencils, and bottle of water.

The wait was the worst part. Everyone passed their standardized tests with flying colors, even Scott who’d panicked so much he almost shifted in the middle of the test. Derek congratulated each of them with a pat on the head or a hug. Stiles got neither: he got an awkward shoulder bump and a fleeting pat on the back. At the time he’d thought it weird but didn’t question it. He and Derek were bros, not as much as he and Scott, but bros all the same. 

Stiles knew which schools he’d get automatically accepted to based on his ACT and SAT scores. In fact, most of the pack knew beforehand: the state schools had less stringent requirements than the private universities or colleges. Simply knowing didn’t make the wait any better, though, and each trip to the mailbox became more daunting as February passed into March.

March became a month of hanging around Derek’s loft with unopened acceptance letters. Aside from the Sheriff and Miss McCall, both who asked that they be present when their sons got replies, the pack opened any response when everyone was present. They knew before they ever sat down whether it was a yes or no based solely on the size of the envelope. 

Stiles’ letters started coming at the end of February. A few were rejections: Yale, Northwestern, NYU. He’d brushed those off, having applied on a whim. His father just pat his shoulder and said there would be better schools to get a Stilinski. Stiles had laughed, dumped the letters in the trash, and told the pack in a nonchalant tone.

Lydia got into six top ten schools, including both Stanford and the California Institute of Technology. Scott and Allison both were accepted to San Jose State University, a small but affordable place with a nice biology program. Erica was denied admission to her top pick, USC, of which Boyd had been accepted, but both were also offered acceptance to three of the UC campuses. Danny and Jackson had both been offered scholarships to play lacrosse at Stanford and got their acceptance letters the same day Lydia did.

When Stiles got a big block envelope with ‘ _Congratulations_ ’ printed across it and the officla logo of Caltech emblazoned in the upper left hand corner, he’d slumped down in the middle of the driveway. His legs were numb when his father came home half an hour later, exhausted from his shift and concerned over his son sitting comatose on the sidewalk. Stiles had just held the envelope up, said ‘ _Dad_ ’, and handed it over. The Sheriff had laughed, scooped his son up into a crushing hug, and started crying. Stiles returned it before his father dragged him into the kitchen and made him open the letter so they could both read the line saying ‘ _Dear Genim Stilinski, Congratulations! We are happy to offer you acceptance to the California Institute of Technology starting in fall 2013._ ’

When he’d shown up at Derek’s that night, already bouncing up and down from dinner with his father that included the rare desert, the pack could tell something was up. He’d pulled the envelope out and managed a ta-da before everyone pounced. Lydia had to pry Scott of him so she could hug him as well, chiding him for calling her earlier; they had gotten their letters the same day. There were hugs all around because it didn’t matter where else he had been accepted or denied; Caltech had been his top choice in-state. 

Even Derek had hugged him, wrapped him into an embrace that still lingers in Stiles’ mind now. It had been warm; Derek had been too warm when he buried his nose in Stiles’ shoulder, chest rumbling when he’d said congratulations. Stiles had mumbled some reply, too caught up in everything to notice how his heart was racing or how he flushed. And then Derek was pulling away, saying they should order late night dinner because it was Friday and no one except Scott had work in the morning. Stiles had just nodded, pulled the sleeve ends of his flannel shirt over his fingertips, and slipped his acceptance letter back in the envelope.

In hindsight, that had flipped the switch from strictly bro thoughts to _holyshitIlikeDerek_.

By April, they had all made their choices. Lydia and Stiles would be attending Caltech, both with scholarships and in Stiles’ case, a lot of financial aid. (It helped that his father had set aside most of his wife’s life insurance money aside for their son when he was going to go to college, but Caltech was private and expensive even for California residents.) Isaac decided on UCLA because it was big and offered a large variety of majors, and, while in LA, it was close enough to Pasadena where Lydia and Stiles would be. That more than anything made Derek at ease of his favorite beta going somewhere by himself.

Allison and Scott both agreed on San Jose State University. It was close enough to home to be just far enough away and tuition wasn’t so crazy that Miss McCall would need to get another job to afford it. Deaton offered Scott an assistant’s position whenever he was home and gave him the names of a few veterinarians he knew in San Jose. Scott almost cried.

Erica and Boyd settled on UC Davis. Boyd’s parents hadn’t cared much for where he went, hadn’t cared much about anything in his life accept that he went to school and got good grades. Erica’s mother told her that she’d pay for Erica to move all her things in August and after that she was no longer allowed to come home. She didn’t like that Erica had run away twice or the people she considered friends. When Derek found out, he said she could stay with him every summer and break; Erica had kissed his cheek and hugged him longer than he normally allowed.

Danny and Jackson decided on Stanford despite being offered full rides to several schools outside the state. As much as Jackson was still reluctant to participate in every pack function or listen to Derek half the time, he was a part of their patchwork family. He was even nice to Stiles on occasion, teased him more out of habit that being spiteful. Danny hadn’t really cared where he went because he was going to be a business major and that could be done almost anywhere. Getting to go school with his best friend was just a plus.

Derek had been at their graduation, grinning in rare occasion, although he sat away from the rest of the pack’s parents despite being invited to join them in the bleachers. He’d even looked socially acceptable: no leather jacket, no clothes with rips or holes in them. Just a nice looking fitted v-neck, blazer, and expensive jeans. Stiles pretended not to notice his smile grew when Finstock read out ‘ _Stiles Stilinski_ ’ instead of his legal name.

They threw one big graduation party at the Hale house, a work in progress that was finished enough the bathrooms, water, and grill in the backyard worked. The only entire families that showed up were the Stilinskis, McCalls, and Argents; three single parents with their only children. The other parents didn’t want anything to do with a Hale.

That summer was bittersweet in every way. Stiles spent more time with the pack than he did with his father. That made him feel guilty every few days but the Sheriff understood, was happy his son had so many good, influential people in his lives other than just Scott. Stiles laughed because his dad been on the in about werewolves and every other supernatural thing that came through Beacon Hills since the Alphas had defiled his cruiser with a dead body and their symbol painted across the hood in blood. His father just encouraged him to go after they ate dinner or when he was off to work.

Time with the pack meant time with Derek and the fluttery feelings the man gave him when he’d hugged him after Stiles had retrieved his cap from the floor and graduation was over became an almost permanent thing. He kept his heart rate in check most of the time, tried not to act any different. Bu then Scott pulled him aside while the pack was in the middle of a weekly training session and told him he reeked of arousal, that he had for weeks, and if he could smell it, Derek most certainly could. Danny told him one night when they were in charge of picking their Wednesday night movie at a Redbox that gay guys totally found him attractive; Stiles countered that Derek was bi if anything, clamped his hand over his mouth, and made Danny swear not to tell.

It was Erica though who figured it out first, who knew he was kind of sort of crazy over Derek before anyone else. It had maybe a week after they’d graduated and they were all still riding highs of being done with high school. Stiles had fumbled around his words, Erica wanted details, and Isaac proved he wasn’t so innocent when it came to his alpha and his relationship with Stiles.

When that summer ended and everyone left for school, Stiles figured the crush would go with it. And it did subside with time, became easier to not miss Derek something as fierce as how he felt about missing his dad or Scott. The pack had weekly Skype dates; it wasn’t like he didn’t see Derek, albeit over the grainy camera of Peter’s old Macbook. 

It eased back into nothing but friendship with a side of possibility of something more. They didn’t try for anything else, still hadn’t up until Stiles’ twenty second birthday. Stiles dated here and there, moved in with Lydia once they were juniors, kept in touch with the pack as much as living in SoCal would allow. Isaac spent weekends with them because he didn’t like his roommates and their apartment became his second home.

Graduate school was never even a question. He knew he wanted a Masters because he was good at research and history was a too little explored field of study these days. Lydia wanted to continue on because she didn’t want to become just another statistic of some liberal arts student who never got a job and was offered a stipend by three professors at Stanford within a few weeks of her acceptance. 

It would keep them from home for another three years but at least Palo Alto was closer to Beacon Hills than Pasadena had been. It was reasonable to come home every few weekends, spend time with his friends and his dad. Everyone else had jobs lined up. Scott had made the decision to not apply to veterinary school because it was four years of intense studying, hundreds of thousands dollars in loans, and the job market for exotic animal veterinarians was too low to chance moving across the country. Stiles knew he was planning on proposing to Allison as well and there was no way he’d want to spend their entire engagement away from her.

Their upcoming graduation would be the first and only one every member of the pack was going to be present at. Jackson and Danny’s were the following Thursday, Isaac’s the day after that. The rest of the pack would be graduating Saturday, split between the north and south parts of the state for ceremonies.

Stiles doesn’t want to think about what being shoved into an auditorium on uncomfortable bleachers with Derek is going to be like. He knows he’ll be a bundle of nerves, unsure of what to say or to even bring up what happened. The only person he’s talked to about it is Lydia and she had just fussed at him for not kissing Derek. 

Conclusion: Stiles is most definitely going to vom the next time he sees Derek.

\- - -

“We have to watch Saturday Night Live, you guys. It’s tradition.”

“Whose tradition? The host isn’t even good this week.”

“Jackson, shut up and change the channel. We are going to watch and you will keep your mouth shut like the good little beta I know you are.”

“I swear to god, Stiles, if Derek didn’t want to fuck you into a wall, I would punch you.”

Stiles gasps, Scott growls, and Erica screams ' _fuck you_ 'at the former kanima from the other room. _Douche move_ , _asshole_ , _shut the fuck up_ and an assortment of other curses follow. Someone hits Jackson, who lets out an indignant yelp, and makes him apologize. “Sorry,” he says and Stiles just glares at the wall separating their rooms. “I forgot we’re not allowed to talk about it.”

“You’re still an asshole,” Stiles replies before turning the volume up and leaning against Isaac who’s lounging on the bed next to him. “Just change the channel.”

It’s like an unwritten rule amongst the group. No one talks about Stiles and Derek, at least in such a serious manner, unless one of them - always Stiles, never Derek - brings it up first. The bet, more than anything, is just incentive for them to pull their heads out of their asses. Stiles knows they were all aware of his crush in the past, suspects they know about it now. But unlike the rest of the couples in the group, whatever he and Derek had or could have should be theirs alone.

Scott and Allison had spent _months_ in high school back and forth between being together and breaking up. At the beginning of senior year they hashed out all their problems, spent a week wallowing at either Stiles or Lydia’s houses, and then got back together like the fairytale ending of a Disney movie. They haven’t broken up since then. They have had a few problems in college, sure, and because of that never moved in together, but they love each other more than Stiles thought could be possible. It is still sickeningly sweet to see how Scott’s eyes follow Allison when they are somewhere together, how Allison's lips quirk up into a smile whenever Scott is around.

Erica and Boyd had been a work in progress for most of high school. They hadn’t known each other well before the bite, mostly exchanged brief glances in between classes and at lunch. After the change, they had gravitated toward each other more than they had with Isaac. The curly haired beta understood, knew they really had wanted him to come with them when they ran away from Derek and the kanima. Although they left together, only Boyd came back. He wouldn’t say much about where Erica had gone, always leaving the room or snapping at whoever asked. Erica showed up at Derek’s loft towards the end of the whole ordeal with the Alphas, apologized, and collapsed in the doorway. Boyd was there when she woke up, hand curled tightly around hers and smiling like the sun had come back into his life.

It had never been simple friendship between them after that. They acted like they had been in a relationship before they ever had been. They touched, held hands, did all the normal things couples did. Scott said it was part of being werewolves, that they were tactile by nature; it explained why Isaac liked to touch everyone as much as he did. But Erica and Boyd were different. They didn’t officially get together until the middle of senior year. Erica made Derek threaten Boyd with physical harm because he was the closest she’d ever had to a brother or father. Derek rolled his eyes, took Boyd aside one day, gave him a very quick speech about breaking Erica’s heart, shook his hand and made him go back to training with the rest of the betas.

Lydia and Jackson had their own epic love story and for a while, they thought that was it. No one was surprised when Jackson left after sophomore year ended, spent an entire year in minimal contact with only Danny and Lydia, and traveled to the east coast. When he came back senior year, things fell right into place; he treated Lydia like a princess and, since Stiles had become her best friend in his absence, was not a complete asshole all the time. They stayed strong through graduation all the way through winter break of junior year of college. Lydia would later say that she had been thinking about ending it for months, not because she didn’t love Jackson, because she always would, but she wasn’t in love with him anymore; they didn’t have the same future goals and he knew it just as much as she did.

Not much changed after they called it quits. They still talk all the time, Jackson’s text count rivals that of Stiles’ in her phone. Lydia still has him wrapped around her finger, probably always will. The pack doesn’t treat them any differently than they had before, except they are no longer Lydia and Jackson; just Lydia, just Jackson.

Isaac has always been the enigma of the group, never staying in a relationship with anyone for more than a few months. Even Danny was in a relationship for a little over a year with an engineering student before the guy cheated on him and Danny swore off men until he had his degree. For Isaac it usually came down to whether he was ready to bring them into the pack, tell them his secret. He had thought about it with one girl his sophomore year at UCLA and decided against it when she said he was too clingy. After that it was a lot of casual dates with friends of friends, some spent with Stiles, some with Lydia. Isaac said he didn’t mind being single because he had the pack and that was enough.

Stiles knew how easy it was to fall in love with Lydia and had almost a decade of experience when Isaac had hinted he’d like her right before he had said he’d kill her in Harris' chemistry class with that ever charming grin of his. Once they were all one semi-functional group, Isaac never showed interest. Stiles doesn’t really know when he began to again because Isaac spending time with both himself and Lydia on weekends was just life. Whatever happened prior to Coachella was their secret and Stiles respected that. In this group where so much of their lives revolved around knowing everyone’s business, that they could still have their own secrets was a miracle.

Stiles knows that Derek has only briefly dated, as in one or two dates because Erica berated him into them, two girls since Kate. For a while it was the reason he thought Derek only liked women. Maybe he does and Stiles is just the exception. He doesn’t really care, so long as Derek wants him as more than a friend. And Stiles knows the moment they ever progress to something more the rest of the pack will more than approve. But for now they don’t talk about it because with their luck, something horrible is bound to happen and kill one of them.

“You okay?” Scott asks from the couch. Allison is snuggled against him, watching the screen as the host finishes their monologue.

“Yeah.”

“You know he doesn’t really mean it. He’s just jealous Derek likes you more than him.”

“I can hear you, McCall!”

“I don’t care!”

“Shut up!” comes from Isaac. He grins, pokes Stiles in the calf with his foot, and turns back to the television. “It’s true, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles buries his face into the pillow wrapped in his arms, watching the television instead of looking at the beta. “We are done talking about this.”

\- - -

They wake up to someone’s phone shrilling at seven thirty the next morning. Allison rolls over on the pull out, fumbling around the carpet to find her phone and shut the alarm off. Scott makes some noise akin to a groan, shuffling in the starchy sheets. From the other room there’s a crash and someone yelling. Stiles rolls over to lift his head, staring blearily at the closed door. Isaac mumbles something to his left and Lydia kicks him because his moving is making everyone roll into the middle of the mattress.

There’s more noise from the other room and Erica comes shuffling through the door to use their bathroom. The showers start in both bathrooms and someone in the other room turns the television on to watch the news. The volume is low but Stiles knows the wolves will still be able to hear it perfectly clear. Isaac puts his pillow over his head and Scott tries to hide his face in Allison’s hair.

It’s another hour before everyone is mostly awake and dressed. They walk to the diner, none the bit surprised most of the town is empty and the residents are all crammed into the church down the street from the hotel. The owner of the diner greets them with a practiced smile, saying Peter had personally contacted him to make sure his friends - _friends_ \- were eating well and to feed them whatever they wanted.

The pack inhales three pots of coffee by the time the waiter brings their food. No one talks much, just drinks their coffee, picks at the soggy waffles, stares half awake at the desert through the window. It is oddly calming, eating in silence, the wolves content with the ten plates of bacon they devour. The pack leaves at the same time people start filing in from the town’s church services.

Being abandoned with no money or transportation is exactly as exciting as it sounds. The pack wanders around the same six streets for an hour, still hazy from the heat and lack of humidity. They eventually find an abandoned park, lounge across the picnic tables under a pavilion, and pull their phones out to challenge one another in _Draw Something_.

Stiles is busy staring at the moles on his left arm when his phone vibrates and starts singing a song he rarely hears come from it. The betas at his table are on top of him before he can enter the password; Scott pushes too close to him and Stiles whines in protest.

“Who’s it from?” “The contact name is ‘Padfoot’. Who do you think it is?” “You are such a nerd, Stiles.”

“No one gets to judge Harry Potter. And you’re one to talk, Danny. You have Derek’s ringtone set as the Imperial March.”

“It was accurate at the time.”

“What does it say?” Erica’s squished herself between Stiles and the end of the table, snatching the phone from his hands to open the message. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“It’s from Peter.”

“But that’s Derek’s codename.”

“It’s just signed Peter.” Boyd takes the phone from Erica to scan the message before handing it back to Stiles. “He knows you talked to your dad.”

“Shit.”

“'Stiles, you best not have told the Sheriff where you are. Consequences, remember? Oh, Derek says he has your boxes. Toodles, P.'” Allison snorts as she reads the message over Stiles’ shoulder. “That is definitely Peter.”

“Creep.”

“Are those boxes for us so we can move?” Lydia’s picking at her nails, glancing at Stiles from behind her sunglasses. 

“Yeah.”

“Why is Peter using Derek’s phone?” Jackson is slumped across a nearby table, arms draping over the bench. “He has his own.”

“Peter’s a dick and likes playing with us. Why else?” Erica twirling her hair now, pursing her lips.

“How has Derek not kicked him out of the pack yet?” Scott asks like it’s not the hundredth time they’ve all questioned the same thing. “Seriously.”

The rest of the group agrees before spacing out back to their tables. Stiles lays back down on his bench, flicking through his message history to clear his drafts and outbox. The heat and amount of food he consumed send him into a semi-conscious state and he, as well as half the betas, fall asleep under the pavilion.

A cop comes by an hour later, reprimands them for scaring the locals, and demands ID. The pack lies through their teeth about their licenses, backing away as a group. The deputy doesn’t bother trying to push it any farther and they return to the hotel for another round of showers and bad television. Morning rolls into afternoon and they skip lunch. It’s just more droning on for the rest of the night until they eat, still theorizing why Arizona, before they head back to their temporary housing. The husband of the owner sticks his head out of the office as they pass by to inform them the mail usually comes around ten before wishing them goodnight.

No one sleeps well because they’ve been cooped up in god knows where for two days and the only thing they want in the world is to go home.

\- - - 

The pack waits around anxiously in the parking lot for the mail carrier on Monday morning. Sure enough, an older man comes wheeling a mail cart into the office with three packages addressed to various members of the pack at ten o’clock on the dot. Stiles takes the heaviest and slices the tape open before shoving ziplocs full of fuses and keys at Allison and Lydia. Both start plugging the fuses back into place while Danny hands out everyone’s licenses and credit cards. At the bottom of one of the boxes is a post-it note in Peter’s handwriting that simply says ‘ _you will thank me_ ’.

By the time everyone has sorted their stuff out, they’ve come to conclusion that Derek or Peter had definitely picked some of them up on their trip down. Most of the pack lives in the northern half of the state, all within a few hours of each other and could ride together but Allison’s car only fits five people. Stiles reluctantly agrees to let Scott take the Jeep for a few days with the promise that if anything happens to her, it will be his life.

They agree to reach the California border before eating lunch as a group. They stop at an Italian restaurant, order more food than they should be able to consume, tip the waitress well for dealing with them. It’s another round of goodbyes even though they will see each other in a few days for Allison and Scott’s graduation. Stiles hugs his Jeep before handing her over to Scott, patting her bumper and telling her to be good. Scott laughs at him, pushes him towards Lydia’s car, and says he has a final in the morning and needs to cram because 4000 leveled biochemistry sucks.

Lydia drops Isaac off in front of his apartment like she has a hundred times before with a smile and wink. Stiles waves as they drive off, smirking to himself until Lydia catches his eyes. ‘ _We are not talking about this until you’ve figured your shit out with our hardheaded alpha, Stiles_ ’ she says, merging back onto the highway. Stiles laughs, rolls his window down, and drowns himself in the music coming from the speakers.

When they finally do get home, the place is just how they left it. Stiles finds the bag of clothes he took to Beacon Hills sitting in the middle of his bed along with another note. Surprisingly, it’s in Derek’s handwriting and says ‘ _we’ll talk next weekend_ ’. Stiles crumples the note up before showering, making dinner for himself and Lydia, and emailing classmates to see if he can get the notes from his senior seminar and physics lab.

The week passes so slowly it’s painful. Stiles has two papers to finish by Monday and two finals to study for in addition to one oral presentation and two exit interviews for graduation. Scott texts him thirty times the night before his last final because he is so wired. Stiles says he should got for run because it’s what Isaac always does when his wolf gets excited. Scott goes silent for about an hour before he calls Stiles and starts hyperventilating from talking so fast.

Lydia finishes classes Thursday morning, Stiles that afternoon, and Isaac that night after his first final/last technical exam. They spend Friday camped around the couch and loveseat surrounded by piles of notes and books, coffee cups scattered around the room. The apartment smells like coffee and take out, quiet movie soundtracks playing from Stiles’ laptop. 

Isaac drives them to San Jose in the morning on Saturday, straight to Allison’s apartment. Chris Argent opens the door with a grin no one will ever get used to seeing, ushering them inside. Allison starts yelling at from the bathroom, curling iron in her hand. Lydia yells a hello before disappearing into the bathroom as well. Isaac and Stiles slip into the spare room to change into their suits, tailored pieces that Lydia talked them both into investing in for job interviews, graduations, _dates_. They had been in an expensive suit shop and she had smiled knowingly at them, like she knew every single one of their secrets, before saying they were getting them.

Allison comes out of the bathroom when she’s finally dressed, hair in a loose curls and looking spectacular. Chris kisses her forehead before saying he’ll see her at the ceremony, leaving the apartment with a wave. Allison sighs when the door closes, pulls four shot glasses from the cup cabinet, and rummages through the freezer until she finds a half empty bottle of vodka. Stiles asks if this is a good idea and Allison shrugs because she’s walking in three hours.

“My hat is going to fall off. Or I’m going to trip. Or they’ll skip my name. Something is going to go wrong,” she says, wiping the back of her mouth before pouring herself another shot. “I have four inch heels and a dress I can barely breathe in. Oh god. This is it.”

“You’ll be fine.” “Allison, stop picking at your bangs, they’re losing shape.” “If you fall, do it in style.”

“None of those suggestions help.”

“The wolves could all start growling at everybody if they laugh at you.”

“If that happens I’ll probably start laughing so hard I’ll cry.”

“Isaac, you have a mission.” Stiles smiles before capping the fifth. “C’mon, you’ll be fine. We’re all here to cheer you on. After the ceremony is over, it’s dinner with the fam.”

“And then we’re getting wasted,” Isaac chimes in, grinning with all his teeth. “Scott texted us this morning and his mom’s going back home tonight.”

They chat in the kitchen for half an hour, mostly to calm Allison down enough she can slip her shoes on. She and Lydia get into her car as Stiles and Isaac climb into his Pathfinder. Stiles rambles different Greek mythology facts because the topic is fresh in his mind for his first final Monday morning and Isaac just listens with a smile, following the girls as Lydia turns down unfamiliar streets until they reach a parking lot surrounding the basketball stadium. The beta shifts the car into park, making some motion at Lydia for she and Allison to go inside, and turns to Stiles.

“Are you going to be alright?” Isaac unbuckles he seat belt and pulls the keys from the ignition, twirling them around his finger before Stiles ever answers. “Derek’s here. I saw the Camaro. As far as I know no one has talked to him since we all got back other than Erica and she chewed him out before he hung up on her.”

“I know, she called me after.” Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wringing fingers around his wrists only to notice his hands are shaking. “You can go inside, if you want.”

“He’s not going to make you talk to him about what happened if you don’t want to, Stiles. He’s more attuned to you than anyone and right now you reek of fear and anxiety.”

“Did Lydia tell you?” Stiles asks, rubbing his neck.

“Nah.” Isaac smiles again, eyes flickering between the dashboard and the entrance to the building. “You smelled happy when you came back in and had this look plastered on your face, like the one Scott gets whenever someone mentions Allison.”

“I did not.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“Oh my god, go inside. I’ll be there in a little bit. I just need a minute.”

“He can probably hear your pulse,” Isaac says as they both step out of the car. “He’s probably freaking out.”

“I don’t care. Just, go inside and find Scott. Text me where you are. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

“Yeah yeah.”

Isaac walks off towards the entrance with his hands in the pockets of his blazer, not so much as shivering even though it’s barely fifty degrees outside. Stiles starts walking in the opposite direction, shaking his hands to lose some of his nerves though it’s a lost cause because that just makes his hands go numb quicker. The parking lot starts filling in in the ensuing minutes and his phone beeps in his pocket. He ignores it in favor of turning around, heading towards the nearest trashcan, and throwing up the homemade breakfast Lydia had so politely cooked them that morning.

\- - -

“Stiles! I got an A in genetics! You should be so proud of me because you telling me to go on a run cleared my mind and then I could focus and made like ten pages of notes while we were on the phone and why do you smell like gross?” Scott’s frowning by the end of his rant, features shifting to concern. “Are you okay?”

“Just dandy. I just felt a little sick from the ride over. Isaac’s suspension is all jerky.” It’s a bold faced lie and Stiles doesn’t even care if the wolves catch it. “Your tassle’s supposed to go on the other side.”

“Oh.” Scott moves the tassel across the cap to the correct side, crossing his arms. “Really though, are you okay? I’m supposed to be the nervous one. I’m the one walking across a stage in front of two thousand people.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Just remember, Scotty. Don’t fall. Your mom told my dad she was ordering the DVD of the ceremony so if you eat it, it will be forever immortalized and we will never let you live it down.”

“I’m not going to fall. Werewolf, remember?”

Allison and Lydia join them from the other side of the gymnasium before some woman yells for everyone to line up in whatever order they want to be seated. Scott bursts into a grin, wraps Stiles in a hug and does the same to Isaac directly after. Allison hugs Lydia, smiles at Isaac, puts her fist out for Stiles to pound it. Stiles just laughs, reciprocates, and says they’ll find them after the ceremony. One last _good luck_ is exchanged before some man wearing thick robes and a Tudor bonnet snaps at them to go get a seat.

“You puked, didn’t you?” Isaac asks as soon as they’re walking down the hallway towards the stage set up in the basketball arena. “You smell like bile.”

“If I say yes you can’t tell anyone.”

“Here,” Lydia says, rifling through her clutch and pulling out two pieces of gum. “Now no one will smell it.”

“Lydia, he still reeks of nerves and other acrid things.”

“Sometimes I wonder how much you would miss if you weren’t all werewolfy.” Stiles pops the gum in his mouth and idly wipes his sweaty hands on his jacket. “Scott couldn’t survive without me before the bite. How did you get by?”

“Don’t deflect, Stiles. It’s rude,” Lydia says as they round a corner into the darkened arena. “You are sitting by me when we get inside. Derek does not get one minute of your time until he tells us why we were dumped in Arizona the week before finals. If it’s anything less that we would have definitely died, I will cut him.”

“And this is why I love you,” Stiles chuckles nervously, thankful she knows him well enough to decipher it as fear. She slips her hand into his, nods her head at Isaac to grab them programs, and pauses before picking a direction of where to start searching for their friends. “Isaac?”

“Upper left. Oooh, Erica’s already on a tirade.”

The pack is seated at the very top of the arena, sixty feet away from any other audience member. The betas are all wearing irate looks, even Danny. Derek’s standing a row down, arms crossed and scowling. Erica’s eyes are glowing when she notices them approaching, making a noise in her throat before uncrossing her legs to lean back against the hard concrete of the next row up. Derek hardly acknowledges them, just grits his teeth when Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles sit down behind Jackson and Boyd.

It’s reminiscent of one of those old western shooters, gunslingers armed but just staring each other down. The tension is enough that even Stiles can feel it, and from behind their backs, he squeezes Lydia’s hand tighter. Derek’s green eyes catch his own caramel and Isaac hisses almost inaudibly.

“You owe us an explanation,” Erica bites out, taping her fingers against her arm. “Three days, Derek. We don’t even know how we got down there. Peter’s disappeared off somewhere again and it’s not like he’d tell us anything even if we could find him.”

Lydia whispers “Peter’s cell went off the grid the night we got home.”

“Allison almost missed a final. Her father would have killed you if that had happened,” Jackson adds.

“I missed my physics review,” and that did actually make Stiles mad because it got his last lab cancelled and he was right on the border between an A- and A.

“You are all fine, stop bitching.” Derek huffs, uncrosses his arms to cross them again, shoulders pulling at his blazer. “I’ll explain once everyone comes in. I’m only going to tell you once and Scott should at least be able to hear.”

“You are such an ass,” Lydia states, lips pursing. “I hope you know that.”

“I’m allowed that right. I’m the alpha of this pack.”

Derek walks away, off to pace around the entire area until the graduates start filling in their seats. The pack dissolves into hushed tones, insulting their alpha even though he can hear them and not caring one bit. When Scott and Allison walk in, Stiles can see him searching around for his mom, lower down, and then the pack. Derek completes his circle of pacing, turns to the crowd, and repeats Scott’s name until the beta turns around in his chair then whispers something to Allison.

“Spill.” It’s the first thing that comes out of Stiles’ lips and fuck if the look Derek is giving him doesn’t make him regret saying it. “They’ll be starting soon.”

“Two months ago, the alphas from three of neighboring packs showed up at the house one day when I was working on it. They knew about the fire, about Laura and Peter, knew I was the alpha and have been for a while. I used to be friends with one of them, but things are different now.”

“Less background, more getting to why we woke up in Arizona.” Jackson’s knee is bouncing and Derek looks ready to remedy that problem with a set of claws to the patella.

“Each pack has their own rules about when to bring in new members and how best to keep their territories protected. We’ve made a name for ourselves up and down the west coast, but because our numbers haven’t changed since you all were in high school, the other packs wanted to expand on the territory my family has protected for decades.”

“Why would they want any of your land?” Isaac asks.

“You all haven’t been there because of school. Realistically if a threat became present, there wouldn’t be enough wolves to keep the area safe.”

“You told them we’re coming home, right?” This time it’s Boyd who speaks up and Derek nods.

“They didn’t seem to like that answer but they don’t really have a choice. I had to make a deal that those of you coming home will stay, at least for a year, until they’ve deigned to approve we’re strong enough to protect our territory.” Stiles starts to say something but Derek cuts him off. “You and Lydia going to school won’t be a problem, so long as you try and visit more often.”

“Already planning on it.

“Good.”

“Why dump us in another time zone, though? I still don’t get that.” Danny’s swinging his phone between his fingers, pausing only to start again.

“One of the packs doesn’t agree with my stance that the bite should only be given to those who ask. I knew that when they set up the meeting and that’s why I had Peter get you out of the way. They would have started a battle over humans being in the pack.”

“That’s stupid.” Lydia is glaring now, not so much at Derek as the situation. “Your family was a mix of both.”

“Even if you’re born human, most choose the bite because it makes living with a family werewolves much easier. Packs built from wolves that have been bit aren’t usually composed of as many humans as ours.”

“Did you tell them I was immune?”

“No but that doesn’t change the fact they think you all should be werewolves as this point.” Derek sighs, the tension in his shoulders dropping slightly when someone on the stage starts warming up the microphone. “I didn’t tell Peter to take you all the way to Arizona. I said to make sure you were somewhere they couldn’t find you and he took that as an invitation to exact revenge for whatever sleight you all cast against him most recently. He shouldn’t have taken your IDs and keys or disabled your cars but I’m not going to say it wasn’t smart.”

“Scott says Allison wants to know about the bugs,” Isaac supplies, eyes darting down to the floor.

“That was entirely Peter’s idea. I don’t even know how he got his hands on those.”

“How did you get us all to meet in one place to begin with?” Stiles asks, hands trembling again.

“I called everyone and told you all to meet in LA. I thought it would be far enough if you all went closer to the border. I left Peter in charge after I made the calls because I had to meet with the other alphas.”

“I'm going to kill him,” Erica snips, canines extending in her mouth before Boyd nudges her to control it. “He fed us wolfsbane and dumped us in a shit motel.”

“I know. There’s a reason he’s not present right now and hasn’t been in Beacon Hills for days.” At that the betas perk up and exchange glances. “He’s not dead, you morons. I sent him to meet with Deucalion for our yearly meeting. He’ll be back by the time the rest of you graduate and then you are free to retaliate how you see fit.”

“This is still a bullshit reason, Derek.”

“And this is me apologizing for Peter using the situation to his benefit and making your lives a living hell. I am sorry but no one was hurt and you all need to focus on graduating instead of what happened.”

“You’re still an asshole,” Lydia says, pulling her hand away from Stiles to open her clutch.

Derek shrugs and the lights above them flicker while someone says they’ll be starting in three minutes. Lydia and Isaac stand to move further down the bleachers, the rest of the pack following. Stiles hangs towards the back of the group, almost passing by Derek before the alpha grabs his wrist. It’s nowhere near hard enough to hurt but it still feels like a vice.

“I have stuff from your dad in the Camaro.”

Stiles frowns, pulling out of Derek’s grip. “Seriously, that’s what you want to talk about right now.”

“Stiles.”

“No, don’t Stiles me. You’re the one who said we would talk. That is a statement reserved for only bad news.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“I want to talk now.” Stiles pauses, mouth opening only to close. “You need to tell me what everything that happened at Coachella was about.”

“We can talk about it later.” Derek’s eyes flicker down to where the pack is trying but failing to subtly watch them. “This is a conversation we should have in private.”

“You just don’t want everyone to know you like me.” Stiles doesn’t know what prompts that and he feels guilty almost instantly.

“It’s Scott and Allison’s day. Let them enjoy it. Whether or not I want to talk about what happened shouldn’t be a priority.”

“Fine.”

Stiles turns around and start stomping down to where the pack has gathered around Melissa and Chris. Miss McCall pats the space next to her, smiling so wide it must hurt. Stiles hugs her before sitting down, choosing to ignore how the betas shift down the row so Derek can sit next to him. He barely gets one sentence into a conversation with the woman he supposes will probably be his stepmom one day before the lights dim out, the introductory speaker walks across the stage, and the parents in the audience start clapping.

Scott turns around one more time, pointing at the woman, grinning like mad. Stiles returns it, slumps into his seat, and starts flipping through the program even though he can barely read it. The commencement speaker comes on a few minutes later, laughing at his own jokes and making poor metaphors.

Sometime between the middle of the commencement speaker and the president of the college that is graduating, Derek places his arm around Stiles’ back. Stiles gives Derek a nervous look but the alpha is watching the speaker fumble over her note cards. He smirks then, small enough that only Stiles will notice, and tightens his grip. 

\- - -

By the time the ceremony is over, everyone is a bundle of nerves. Scott and Allison come into the waiting area practically prancing, hands clutched tight together. Melissa hugs her son and fusses over his hair before wiping something off his cheek with her thumb and some spit. Scott just flushes and tries to pull away before simply giving in and letting her have her way. Allison hugs her father tightly and he says it would have made Victoria proud. Allison just nods, wiping at the corner of her eye before opening the case she was given for her diploma. She won’t get a hard copy for months but it’s nice to know it’ll have somewhere to be stored.

They decide on where to eat dinner as a group, calling in a reservation on the way out of the stadium, the pack breaking off to retrieve their cars. Stiles waves off Scott to ride with Derek before asking where his baby is. Scott rolls his eyes and says she’s at his apartment, she’s perfectly fine, and ‘ _you have an unhealthy attachment to that Jeep_ ’. Stiles counters something quick before Derek starts walking off towards the Camaro, saying they’ll meet them there in an hour because of all the traffic.

An hour turns into an hour and half and no less than thirty minutes of that does Stiles spend with Derek’s tongue down his throat. Derek leans over the center console while Stiles in the middle of asking when the fuck this all started, places his hands on either of Stiles’ cheeks, and turns him so he’s not staring at the people walking past. Stiles mutters an ‘ _oh_ ’ and then Derek’s kissing him.

It's light at first, just a press of lips before Derek pulls away to grin and Stiles gets out ‘ _you asshole_ ’ before they’re kissing again. It’s heated and messy before he realizes it and he finds his hands wandering until they're gripping Derek’s back. Stiles pulls away to catch his breath at one point and Derek just follows. He groans that time and Derek honest to god laughs. It’s rich and completely fitting and Stiles is about to make fun of him for it but then the alpha is glaring at someone through the windshield with the briefest glint of red eyes. Some graduate with a pretty girl hanging off his arm mouths something before tugging her away, nearly sprinting.

“We should probably head over there,” Derek says, revving the Camaro like he hasn’t just scandalized the car. “Scott will start complaining if they have to wait for us to start eating.”

“Just because you just did that,” Stiles motions between them and tries not to flush any more than he already is when he realizes Derek’s lips are the slightest bit red and puffy, “does not mean you’re getting out of this conversation.”

“We can talk about it later.”

“Yeah, I hear you saying that but I don’t believe you.” Stiles sinks back into his own seat as the Camaro purrs when it’s shifted into drive. “Lydia, Isaac, and I are leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

“We can talk after you graduate.” Derek turns at a stoplight, letting the wheel right itself beneath one palm. “It’s just another week. You can live.”

“Dude, no. In case you’re really that dense, this whatever it is between us isn’t something that sprang up overnight.”

“I know, Stiles. Trust me, _I know_.” Derek’s eyes shift from the road to the human in his front seat, lips curling back into a grin. “I could smell it on you the entire summer before you left for college. A month had passed before Scott ever figured it out and told you.”

“Oh god.” Derek laughs again and Stiles presses his forehead against the window to an effort to preserve the last bit of his dignity. “They’re going to know, Derek. The moment we walk in everyone is going to know.”

“Let them.”

“You’re going to be one of those people, aren’t you? The stealthy asshole who flaunts what he has and never says a word.”

Derek just smirks and merges a lane over.

\- - -

The conversation doesn't come up again, at least not before the next morning. The wolves are grinning like mad when Derek and Stiles sit down but no one says a thing or asks why their alpha and his boyfriend-but-not keep shooting nervous glances at one another. After they eat, it’s a quick visit drive back to Scott’s. Stiles hugs the Jeep’s hood, cooing at her for being good, and Derek snorts. 

They all change out of their fancy clothes and head back out to hit one of the local bars. It’s too loud and crowded after a while, and they wander back to Scott’s for more drinking. When everyone is drunk on alcohol or wolfsbane laced alcohol, the pack disperses around the small apartment to find places to sleep. No one says a word when Derek and Stiles fall asleep squished together on the couch.

When the pack finally rouses, they sleepily trudge down the street to one of the restaurants that serve breakfast. They fight off hangovers with lots of coffee, leaning against each other and griping when a server drops a tray of plates. Stiles checks his watch when they’ve gotten their food, saying he, Lydia, and Isaac need to leave when they're done. Scott grins at him with a piece of bacon between his teeth, rubbing it in that he’s done with school forever.

By the time they get back to Scott’s apartment, everyone is in a better mood. Those needing to head south wish the rest of the pack good luck with finals and agree they forgo their weekly Skype date. Scott hugs Stiles so tightly he thinks he’ll bruise but returns it with just as much fervor, laughing before blowing a kiss at Allison. She just grins, winks in return, and says she’ll see him at his own graduation.

Lydia and Isaac head towards the beta’s SUV with knowing smirks as Derek follows Stiles to his own. Stiles tosses everything in the trunk with the cardboard boxes from the Camaro and the suitcases from Melissa before turning around to say goodbye to the alpha. He’s pressed against the side of the car, softer than normal, and he snickers before leaning forward into Derek’s space. The kissing that follows comes easy, unhurried and intimate, the makings of something wonderful. Derek finally pulls away when Stiles starts to shiver from the cold, inhaling against his neck. ‘ _Let me know when you get home_ ,’ he says and Stiles nods before stealing one more kiss and climbing in. His heart doesn’t stop racing until he’s on the interstate and passes a sign reading off the miles until he reaches Los Angeles.

The next five days are spent in apartment, the closest coffee shop, and poorly lit classrooms with irate professors. Stiles and Lydia don’t talk for two days, both caught up in studying although they are living in the same space. Isaac doesn’t come by the apartment until late Tuesday night so Lydia can read a paper through for errors. Stiles leaves them on the couch when he goes to sleep and Isaac is missing the next morning. Lydia is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her notes, coffee in her hand, and barely waves at Stiles as he leaves for a final. 

He doesn’t talk to Derek much, only a few text messages that hold no significance, just random facts about Greek religion and others about the Civil War. Derek replies in a timely manner, always brief but not put offish. It makes Stiles smile because if the alpha is still talking to him, he doesn’t regret making out in the Camaro. It’s a plus, too, when Derek texts him _good luck_ or _you know this, don’t get caught up on specifics_ , or _don’t bullshit your answers with lots of numbers and equations if it’s a waste of time_ before each respective final.

When it’s all said and done and Stiles has turned in his last paper, he drives to Isaac’s, ignores the kid that answers the door, and walks into his room. Isaac is halfway dressed, dress pants and undershirt on, hair in disarray. Stiles laughs, offers to help, and asks how long before they need to leave. His graduation ceremony is one of the few at night and Stiles is lucky that last final involved turning a physical copy of his term paper in and signing a goodbye card for his professor. Lydia’s in her last final now, some graduate level mathematics course, probably rocking it like she always does.

Isaac’s ceremony is large, larger than Scott and Allison’s, sure to be larger than Stiles’ own. Lydia meets him at the front doors, Scott and the Sheriff already seated somewhere. Allison’s back in Beacon Hills for the night but coming down the next morning with Misses McCall. They sit as a group, chatting about how they’re all glad to be done with everything. When the ceremony starts and the graduates start filing in, Scott and Stiles start cheering for Isaac and he almost trips. Lydia rolls her eyes with a feigned grimace and the Sheriff laughs.

When it’s over hugs are exchanged, Lydia kisses Isaac on the cheek; Scott mimics them and does the same to Stiles. The Sheriff takes them out to dinner on the town and Stiles consents to allow his father a rare burger and fries. Scott goes off on a tangent about how he never thought they would all make it to college graduation without someone dying. Everyone just nods along, ignoring the several instances different members have been critically injured.

The next morning, Stiles wakes up to his father and Miss McCall making him breakfast, Scott and Allison snuggled in the loveseat watching television, and Lydia in her bathroom already straightening her hair. Isaac is in the kitchen pilfering pieces of turkey bacon when the Sheriff isn’t looking and shows no remorse when the man calls him out on it. Melissa pats his head and sends him away with a forced frown. Isaac chuckles and joins Scott and Allison in the living room.

Throughout the day, everyone texts one another. Jackson, Danny, and Derek are all in Sacramento for Erica and Boyd’s graduations, one in the morning and one in the early afternoon. There are congratulations exchanged, plans made for when they all get home, pleasant banter between himself and the former kanima. Erica keeps sending him pictures of Derek in a new suit and Stiles has to tell her to stop after a while because his father is there and damn if Derek doesn't look hot.

Derek texts him instead after that, long apologies that are much easier to type than say. He tells Stiles he promised Erica and Stiles replies that he understands and Erica wouldn’t be where she is without his presence in her life. Derek doesn’t reply for a while and when he does it’s with a picture of Boyd with his tassel on the side indicating graduation. He says he’ll try his best to make it down for dinner with everyone that night and Stiles replies with ‘ _and I’m the one you told ‘it’s just another week’_ ’. Erica sends him another picture without any text, just a side profile of Derek staring off at something, smiling in a way he reserves for special occasions.

The graduation ceremony itself is rather boring. Lydia’s sitting in a different row because they’ve been sat by major and Stiles is stuck between people he knows but hasn’t hung out with. Part of him thinks he maybe should have reached out a little more and made more friends in his department, but the last time he did that, a girl slapped him in the face for stringing her roommate along - which is completely untrue, the girl was just pissed he wouldn’t sleep with her. When his row finally stands to walk across stage, he searches the crowd for his dad and Melissa and Scott and Allison, his _family_ , before settling on Lydia who’s beaming at him from the second row. 

The speaker reads his name, his complete and legal name per the Sheriff’s request, Stiles shakes the hands of his advisor and a number of the faculty before stepping down on the other side of the stage and being handed a slip of paper. A photographer takes a picture of him before sending him back to his seat and Stiles is shaky throughout the rest of the ceremony. They don’t toss their hats in the air like high school, just calmly stand and clap. The families of the graduates are asked to head to a building down the street and the graduates to wait until they’ve cleared out to join them.

Stiles and Lydia walk hand in hand, lost in the mass of graduates heading the same direction. When they finally get into the building, Lydia’s parents are waiting for her, both looking like they might start shouting at the other. Stiles squeezes her hand and says he’ll see her later; her parents won’t be staying the night. He finds the Sheriff, the McCalls, Isaac and Allison in the back corner, chatting loudly. The Sheriff hugs him fiercely, telling him how proud he is, how proud his mother would have been. Stiles almost cries because he can only imagine how she would have been right there, smiling in that kind way she always did, calling him Stiles instead of his given name because she knew he hated it. Instead Miss McCall is hugging him, fussing over his hair like she did with Scott, just as excited. And that’s okay because he loves Melissa and so does his father.

They don’t spend much time at the reception, just enough to snag some sodas before the caterers run out. Stiles and the Sheriff walk back to the garage the Jeep is parked at, talking about what he thinks can fit in the car the next day on his way back to Beacon Hills. He sets his itchy robe and cap in the back seat, loosens the tie around his neck, and changes shoes so he feels a little more comfortable.

The drive through town takes a while, what with everyone and their families doing the same. By the time they reach the restaurant they’ve made dinner reservations for, the hostess’s desk is surrounded by four people while another thirty sit uncomfortably in the waiting area. Isaac, Lydia, Allison, and the McCalls have commandeered a small booth by the bar, sipping drinks when the Stilinskis join them.

Stiles gets up to find the bathroom when his father orders him a beer, saying he’ll be back. He pushes through the crowd of people, past the hostess who looks ready to slap someone. By the time he passes her again, ten of the people waiting are gone and she looks a little less stressed. He’s about to ask her how much longer until their table is available when he’s spun around. He doesn’t even get an insult out before someone is kissing him and the chatter around the lobby dies a little.

Derek lets Stiles go a moment later, smirking as Stiles gapes, mouth open and eyes more than a little widened. Before he can change his mind, he’s throwing his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him into another kiss, not caring that the waitresses showing people to their tables are openly staring. Stiles sinks onto his heels after he deems the kiss worthy, grinning and laughing as Derek brushes his hair back into place. They offer shy hellos before Stiles laughs nervously because some woman sitting by the door has a hand over her daughter's eyes. He takes the alpha by the hand and guides him back to the booth where their friends and family are sitting. No one seems surprised and Stiles is pretty sure his father mutters ‘ _finally_ ’ to Melissa.

Dinner is all talk, discussions as to who is staying to help move Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles home and everyone’s plans for the summer. Stiles and Lydia won’t be getting jobs since they’ll be gone again in a few months, saying they’ll get caught up on reading and television and translating a bestiary Allison exchanged with another family of hunters a few months ago. Scott has a job lined up with the area pet food distributor to be a sales rep. Isaac is going to apply for a bunch of part time jobs because he’s not interested in a permanent job yet. The Sheriff asks Derek if he’s completed renovations on his house so he can get a paying job and Derek just shakes his head no and calls him sir. Stiles laughs and Derek kicks him underneath the table.

They don’t go out and drink like they had after Scott and Allison’s graduation because Stiles and Lydia are moving the next day. The Sheriff and Melissa leave them at the foot of Stiles’ shared apartment and head to a hotel they’ve rented, and Scott and Allison do the same a few minutes later. Isaac kisses Lydia on the forehead, saying he’ll see her the next morning and Stiles makes an effort not chuckle when she blushes and leans into it. He waves goodbye to Stiles and climbs into the SUV; Derek’s staying with him but leaving the Camaro in the lot with the Jeep for the night. 

Stiles rolls back onto his heels with a grin before using the momentum to roll forward and up, hands clutched into the silky fabric of Derek’s dress shirt. The alpha kisses him, hands on either of hips, pulling them flush together. They should rush because Isaac’s sitting in his SUV pointedly not watching them and Lydia’s probably already changed and ready to start packing. But they don’t, just stand pressed against each other, kissing for the sake of it. Happy, because they can be. Isaac eventually honks the horn and Derek flashes red eyes at him before saying ‘ _I'm proud of you, Stiles. Now go finish packing. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon_.’ Stiles replies ‘ _Oh my god, look at you, you’re all sentimental because your puppies all grew up and we’re adults now and we have to get jobs and pay bills and-_ ’ when Derek kisses him again and then walks back to the SUV.

The move back involves two U-Hauls and car hitches, excessive amounts of expensive gas, and more sweating than is appropriate. By the time everything is in Palo Alto and they’ve locked the storage unit, Lydia is all snark and quick insults from exhaustion. Stiles can’t blame her and enjoys the drive back home in silence because for the first time all week, he’s completely alone.

He texts his dad and Derek when he gets home, opting to shower before unloading the rest of his apartment stuff into the house. When he’s done, he lays down on his bed, small compared to the full he’s used to, burying his face in pillows that smell like fabric softener. Stiles doesn’t jostle when the window opens and Derek climbs in, just offers a low hi and scoots over. Derek sets his jacket down and steps out of his shoes before laying down.

Stiles drifts off curled around Derek with a smile, not caring at the moment that they still haven’t talked about what this is between them.

\- - -

When Stiles arrives at the Hale house, he’s mostly awestruck by the sheer size of the place. The pack rarely spends time out here because it’s been a work in progress for as long as he and Derek have. The last time he was here, the front porch needed staining and the windows were covered in plastic. Now there’s a swing and every window was blinds or curtains. 

The rest of the pack is in awe as well. When Derek had texted them all saying their first pack meeting at home was at his house and not the loft, the betas all expected hardcore training. Instead, Derek and Peter are standing in front of their former house with proud grins. Well, Peter is leering more than anything, but its close enough.

“Holy shit,” Scott whispers, slipping from the passenger’s seat to join the group. “It’s finished.”

“Wow.”

Erica and Boyd keep scanning the windows back and forth, sniffing the air in the chance this is all some ploy. If anyone should know about this, it would be them. Or Isaac. But Isaac’s slack jawed, staring up at the chimney where there’s a metal weather vane in the shape of a wolf pointing east. Next to him, Lydia has her arms crossed, dress fluttering around her thighs as she picks her heels up to keep from sinking into the mud.

Jackson, Danny, and Allison arrive in the following minutes, each taking in the house with similar expressions. They form a line across the yard and in front of what is literally their fleet of cars, gaping at Derek and the house. Peter coughs to get everyone’s attention: that knocks the group out of their revelry and without ever looking at one another, they all begin to sneer, arms crossed and fists clenched.

Derek looks satisfied.

“You are such a tool.” “You could have cost us graduation, you asshole.” “That was our last week of classes, you creep.” “What the fuck did you take the fuses for?” “Where did you get the bugs?” “What the hell did you give us to drink?” “There was puke everywhere." " _Everywhere_.”

Peter is amused, lips curling up into a grin that is far too at ease for amount of anger directed at him. Their voices are all overlapping each other’s and Peter holds his hands up in the air to surrender. Scott throws a rock at him.

“You are a big bag of dicks,” Stiles says, the betas all nodding along. “If you wanted us to stay out of the way, you could have just made everyone stay with Lydia and I. And Isaac.”

“Because you staying where you’re told has always worked out so well, Stiles.” Peter drops his hands, advancing one step towards them. “Derek said keep you safe. I did so. And you listened like the good pack of betas Derek has trained you to be. Besides, you don’t seem to be too put off considering the size of that welt on your neck.”

Stiles clamps a hand over his neck and Isaac snickers to his right. “Whatever, you owe us a huge apology.”

“Fine, fine. I apologize. Now can we please get to the point of this meeting.”

“You owe us all favors. And graduation gifts,” Erica snaps, extending her claws for emphasis. "And you should avoid darkened alleys."

“If you all can manage to be quiet for a few minutes, you’ll see I’m not completely at fault here.”

“You're going to regret it, man.” Scott shakes his head and Allison hip checks him with a smile.

“Derek, please get this over with. I have places to be.”

“Everyone put their hands out,” Derek says, clenching his right palm.

“Why?” Stiles asks, putting his hands out but exchanging nervous glances with Scott and Allison.

“Just do what I say and don’t ask questions for once.”

Derek hands Peter something or somethings before moving to the end of line the pack has formed. Stiles watches the Hales place something in the hands of each pack member. Derek stops in front of him and grins before dropping a key in his palms.

“What are these for?” Isaac asks, already jittery.

“The house, of course.” Peter steps back to take his place by Derek, heaving an overly dramatic sigh.

“But I thought you were still rebuilding all of the bedrooms?” Erica’s curious now, threading the key between her fingers. “You said we had to stay at the loft until it was completed.”

“We finished while you all were on holiday in the desert,” Peter offers while Derek rolls his eyes. “You didn’t really believe negotiations with the other packs took three days, did you?”

“You never said what you gave us that wiped our short term memories.” Danny’s slipped the key into his back pocket, arms crossed again.

“It wasn’t that hard. You were all whining like pups at the state of the motel so I gave you alcohol laced with wolfsbane and a concoction of Deaton’s making.”

“There is no way Deaton consented to drug us,” and Stiles would know because he’s bugged Deaton for years about several mixtures he’s only ever read about.

“I said he created it. I didn’t say he knew what I used it for. It’s not like I stuck around to watch you make bad decisions. When I left you, you were all singing a very poor rendition of some song about hiding fires.” Peter sighs again, rolls his neck until the joints pop. “We’ve deviated from the point again.”

“Douche,” comes from no fewer than five of their mouths. Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and points to the front door.

“The keys work on the dead bolt and door handle.”

“Why are you giving us all keys? It’s not like we live here.” Jackson’s eyebrows are furrowed together.

“That’s the point of the key. You are welcome to stay here until you get settled. Erica and Isaac, I set up rooms for you two on the second floor. We can move everything from the loft tomorrow. Everyone else, you’re free to pick your own.” Derek shifts uncomfortably as the pack stares at him with open mouths. “You don’t have to live here. I’m just saying you can. It’s not like I need all the room.”

Someone squeals and Stiles thinks it’s Erica. The blonde bounds her way across the front yard and pounces on Derek. She’s laughing when he drops her and calls for Boyd before she walks in the front door. She then screams _holy shit_ and the rest of the pack descends.

Stiles is still standing there when Derek offers him his hand, motioning for him to come inside. He splits into a grin and envelops him in a hug, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders. Derek pulls him close around his waist and noses at his neck.

“You built us a house, baby.” It’s dripping sarcasm and Stiles can’t help but start snickering at himself. 

He expects Derek to come back with some witty retort before the alpha says “You bet your ass I did. I’m fucking exhausted with having you all scattered all over the place. At least here I know your flirting with trouble will be limited to Beacon Hills.”

“You are such a dork,” Stiles says, pulling away to press their foreheads together. “You know that right?”

“Laura used to tell me all the time.” Derek smiles and tugs his wrist. “Come on.”

\- - - 

Stiles finds the summer easy and complicated all in one. Most of the pack elects to keep living at home with the exception of Derek’s original three betas. Regardless, they spend evenings sprawled across the plush couches in the family room or in room dubbed _heaven_ because it’s literally filled with beanbags and ottomans and one couch from what looks like Ikea’s children section. It also houses three different game systems, the reason the room is void of actual furniture. Stiles thinks it’s kind of hilarious because they are adults and have what is basically a playroom.

The house has several rooms that are either still incomplete or used as storage. Even if the entire pack were to move in, there would still plenty of room for more. It doesn’t go unnoticed, however, that Derek built a library and study down the hallway from his master bedroom. Stiles has his own room next to the library that is mostly empty except for a bike he couldn’t fit in his storage locker and chest of drawers he buys at a yard sale that will make its way to Palo Alto at the end of the summer.

The library is his favorite room in the entire house. The walls are lined with handmade bookshelves, almost too large to be considered such. Aside from the books the Hale family kept, those Stiles has purchased on his own, and others they’ve acquired over time, there are three shelves lined with upwards of thirty binders, archived by date and subject, the product of Stiles’ research. Most of it is print-outs and handwritten notes, translations of the Argent's bestiary and a dozen like it. When Stiles realizes what the binders are, he hugs Derek and whispers ‘ _thank you_ ’ before shakily kissing him.

The archive is Stiles’ baby. It’s over half a decade of religiously documenting everything they encountered and detailing it down on paper. He meant to throw bits and pieces away when he moved to Pasadena but never got around to it. He’ll wonder later if his father had been the one to give Derek the boxes of notes from his closet.

The Sheriff is happy to have his son home and although he still fights the healthy food, Miss McCall has kept him on the strict diet Stiles created a decade ago. She’s there at least once or twice a week, once on the nights family dinners with the McCalls, Argents, and Hales (Derek only) are hosted, and once on the weekends for grown-up date night. Stiles usually makes a face because even though Melissa has been his pseudo-mom since he was in middle school, it can still be weird to see her kiss his father. She understands and says Scott feels the same way before ruffling his hair and sending him to the kitchen to wash plates with her son.

Dating Derek, or rather being in a relationship with Derek, is much like being friends was. They bicker about what to eat for dinner or whose turn it is to pay, why Derek only buys whole bean coffee instead of ground, why they even have keys since the house is pretty much always unlocked. Stiles spends as much time lounging around the Hale house as he does his own.

They never actually talk about their relationship, about when things changed. It’s fitting for them, Stiles guesses, because as good as they have always been at picking each other apart with words, expressing their feelings the same way has always been a challenge. Stiles does not and will not ever forget how Derek’s ears went red and he froze the first time Stiles referred to him as his boyfriend in public. Stiles had turned around to give Derek a shit eating grin, found the entire situation ridiculously precious, and laughed until his stomach hurt. Derek got his revenge the first time he told Stiles he loved him in front of the Sheriff and Stiles had dropped an entire pan of wild rice and chicken on the kitchen floor. 

A majority of the pack start their new jobs in July. Their nights of group dinners and hanging out go marginally down but weekends are spent together. The wolves run the forest, chasing one another through the trees and the humans pretend to keep up. They fall into routine and the weeks pass without an incident of someone getting hurt.

As hard as leaving the comfort of home and his father and Derek is, the move to Palo Alto goes smoothly. Isaac and Derek help Lydia and Stiles get settled a week before classes start. Jackson comes down for a day and walks them around town, pointing out where to go and where to avoid. Lydia slips into comfortable place beside him, chatting away with her left hand in Isaac’s and her right in Jackson’s. Stiles makes a gagging noise at some point and Jackson points out that when Derek and Stiles had sex the last night Stiles was in town, Erica called him and bitched for an entire hour about how it like walking in on her parents. Stiles flushes and hides his face against Derek’s shoulder and the alpha just shrugs and grins with smug satisfaction.

Graduate school is every bit as challenging as it sounds. There are nights when Lydia falls asleep on the couch surrounded by text books and Stiles smudges his handwritten notes with drool. They go through an entire bag of coffee and a pie the week of midterms.

Stiles goes home at least once a month, splits time between his house and Derek’s. Every other weekend, Derek comes down. Stiles gives him a key the week he moves in and Lydia doesn’t make fun of him because she’s lovely like that. Isaac’s in and out every other week or so for a day or two; his job at the bookstore in Beacon Hills, temporary as it is, changes frequently so he visits when he can. Mandatory Skype dates still happen every Thursday and even though a majority of the pack is in the same city, they’re usually spread across three or four camera screens.

When Derek comes to visit it reinforces all the reasons why he’s harbored a crush on the alpha for all these years. He’s no longer self-conscious about touching Stiles in front of people, complains about where Stiles buys groceries because the place is sketch and smells like other werewolves. Even as a guest, Derek treats the apartment like it’s his, isn’t afraid to put Stiles in his place when it's proper, learns when and when not to pick a fight with Lydia. Derek won’t admit it but he goes out of his way whenever he oversteps to get back on her good side; he won Scott’s approval years ago. 

The man shouldn’t be allowed to be as endearing as he is when he doesn’t even try. Derek leaves some piece of clothing every time he visits and Stiles clears out a drawer for him. There are things like toothbrushes and aftershave and a bottle of eye drops Stiles never uses in his bathroom. The kicker is the alpha’s, _his_ alpha’s, unjustified claim on one of the communal forks. Stiles learns about it one weekend Isaac is there and they are eating salad Lydia forced on them. Derek literally plucked the fork out of his beta’s hand and simply said ‘ _mine_ ’. Stiles laughed so hard his throat went raw and his voice cracked through dinner. An hour later Derek blew him against the door of the bathroom while the others were in the kitchen; Stiles bit his knuckles to keep from making noise and Derek never heard another word about his fork preference.

It’s not even always about sex like Stiles thought it might be. He’s stressed about this or that on a daily basis and when Derek visits, he doesn’t push if Stiles avoids it. He just lets Stiles use him a foot rest so the graduate student can sprawl across the couch with a highlighter between his teeth and a packet of journal articles in his lap. Sometimes Derek maneuvers them so Stiles is between his legs, back to chest, and Derek will lean over his shoulder while Stiles reads his response essays out loud. And if Derek kisses and sucks bruises into his shoulders, beard tickling his skin until he’s a panting mess and Derek has a hand around his cock, Stiles never complains.

\- - -

It’s the Friday before Christmas when Stiles wakes up to an empty house. He came home the night before and crashed after leaving his father a voicemail informing him he was home. He rubs his eyes before rolling out of bed, disappearing to the bathroom before heading downstairs. He frowns when he realizes his dad is not there and that should seem odd but Stiles knows the Sheriff is never really off the clock.

He makes breakfast in silence, just an egg and toast, before sitting down on the couch. He eats and watches the news, grimaces when the weatherperson says they’re predicting the lows to drop into the teens that night. Stiles finishes eating before leaving the dishes in the sink to be washed later and changing clothes. He slips on a heavy jacket and coat before getting into the Jeep and driving to Derek’s.

The betas are sitting around the kitchen bar, nursing cups of coffee. Erica smiles softly before pulling a coffee mug with UCLA printed across it out of the cabinet. Isaac rubs his face against Stiles’ sleeve when he leans against the bar.

“Derek’s not here, if you’re wondering. He left about an hour ago.” Erica hands him the mug of coffee, already mixed with a little milk and hazelnut creamer.

“I noticed the Camaro was missing. Did he say where he was going?” Stiles takes a long drink of his coffee, delighting in the way the heat runs down his throat.

“Nope. All he said was that he would be home around noon. We’re gonna go on a run if you would like to join us,” Boyd offers, stretching his arms above his head.

“Yeah, no, that’s okay. I can’t keep up with you all. It’s not even fair.”

“Uh-huh,” Isaac mumbles, face hidden behind his arms.

“You guys go run. I couldn’t find my dad and Derek’s AWOL so I’m going back to bed.”

Stiles finishes his coffee before rinsing their cups and placing them in the dishwasher. The betas place lunch requests like Stiles is some chef they pay to do their bidding and he shoos them out the door. Instead of starting lunch, which he will make because grilled cheese and minestrone soup sounds delicious, he heads upstairs to Derek’s room, shucks his jeans and jacket off, and slips under the blanket thrown across the comforter. 

He wakes up to Derek lifting the blanket to crawl in behind him. Stiles just yawns, notes that he’s been out for three hours and it’s almost one. Derek mumbles a hello into his neck, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling Stiles back against his chest. It’s how they usually fall asleep, Derek spooning Stiles, sleepily scenting him until someone falls from consciousness.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Where did you go so early? I know I said I wasn’t going to come over until later, but my dad wasn’t home.”

“I had a meeting I had to go to.”

“Oh,” Stiles sighs, pulling Derek’s hand across his chest. “With who?”

“Melissa McCall.” Derek shifts a little and breathes hot air across the back of Stiles’ neck. “And your father.”

That renders the drowsy thoughts of cuddling away and Stiles sits up. Derek’s watching him, an almost unnoticeable smile tugging at his lips. 

“Why?”

“It’s a secret.”

“You don’t get to talk to my dad and Scott’s mom and say it’s a secret. That’s not fair.”

“Sorry.” Derek rolls onto his back, reaching over to grab Stiles’ right hand. “It’ll make sense soon.”

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty, Derek. If you weren’t I would most definitely kick you out of bed.”

“You realize this is my bed.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean. This,” Stiles says motioning the half of the king that is empty, “is my half. I sleep there. I drool on those pillows. I sweat on those sheets. Therefore, mine.”

Derek chuckles and let’s go of Stiles’ hand to sit up. Stiles crosses his arms and leans away when Derek kisses his jaw and pulls him across the mattress. “You should really just move in,” Derek finally says, stepping off the bed to open the blinds. Stiles sort of palls and he swears he can hear someone laughing at him a floor below.

“What?”

“You should move in. You spend half your time here when you’re home anyways. You’re father knows we’re together, it’s not nearly as scandalizing as you are imagining it to be right now.”

“Are you serious?”

“No, Stiles, I’m stringing you along so the first time you come home next semester and walk in, all of your things will be gone.”

“You’re not funny.” Stiles crinkles his nose when Derek ruffles his hair and offers him a hand.

“I’m serious.”

“Okay then.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure.”

Derek throws Stiles his jeans and jacket with a smile before stepping from the room. Stiles gets dressed and pads down the stairs in his socks, none the bit surprised when the betas are waiting for him on the first floor. Erica’s still grinning when she tackles him to the floor, Boyd’s shoulders shaking from laughter. Isaac pokes him in the side with his foot and Derek calls them into the kitchen to help make lunch.

\- - -

Three nights later he and Derek are standing in _their_ bedroom, a pile of clothes on the bed and hamper full of clean clothes waiting to be folded and hung up. Moving Stiles from home to Derek’s is something they accomplished in one afternoon because everything he really needs is back in Palo Alto. So he moves all of his books and most of the clothes he brought home for break. The Sheriff had hugged him and said he better be present at eleven am sharp on Christmas Eve for Stilinski bonding time. He had then kicked Stiles out and closed the front door while Melissa laughed from the dining room.

“This is all rather uneventful,” Stiles says, refolding the same shirt for a third time. “I didn’t even get surprised with a key.”

“You can give your key back and go stand outside until one of the betas let you back in.”

“Ha ha, no.” Stiles balls the shirt before picking another up. “They’d leave me out there.”

“You wanted me to give you a key to the house with the dramatics.” Derek doesn’t flinch when Stiles tosses the shirt at the back of his head. “That was rude.”

“So is your face.”

Stiles continues folding laundry and handing things to Derek to be put away, humming along with the television as some Christmas themed musical runs. They clear the bed before Stiles starts pulling his clothes from the laundry basket. When a familiar shirt is unburied, he snorts out a laugh.

“I keep forgetting to ask, but would you mind telling me why I was wearing this when I woke up in Arizona?”

“What?”

“This shirt,” Stiles says, handing the jersey fabric to Derek. The man stills like the shirt may spontaneously burst into flames. “I had it on when we woke up in the motel rooms. Your betas wouldn’t let it go. I think it bothered them that I smelled like you but you weren’t there. Scott hated it.”

“Why do you still have this?” Derek asks, gripping the shirt between his fists.

“I sleep in it. Your ridic muscles made the shirt too big to wear.” Stiles frowns. “You’re deflecting. Care to explain?”

Instead of answering Derek kisses him. It’s the third conversation this week he’s either gotten out of or ended without saying a word. The first time was two days ago when Stiles said Derek didn’t have to call his boss at his new job - at a hardware store of all places - to take off work so he could help Stiles move and Derek had rolled his eyes, called his boss despite Stiles trying to swipe his phone, and asked anyways. The second time was yesterday when Stiles asked Derek if he would come with him to visit his mom next week. It was her birthday soon and Stiles always went to her grave to spend hours talking to the air around him. Scott usually went and kept him company because he knew Mrs. Stilinski; this year Stiles wanted Derek to come introduce himself as the boyfriend and not ‘that I guy I kind of fell for that will probably never want me back’. Derek had nodded, placed a hand on Stiles’ from where it sat on the couch, and squeezed.

Now he’s gotten himself out of another conversation, one that Stiles really does want to know the answer to but forgot to ask because the events of that weekend are still weird. Derek has him pressed back against the mattress, licking into his mouth as he grinds their hips together. Stiles moans into the man’s mouth, trying to get friction in his jeans, anything that will progress this to being naked.

It takes a few minutes but Stiles gets exactly what he wishes for. He’s a mess, shaky and sweating, on his hands and knees as Derek’s fingers press shallowly against his prostate. Stiles knows he’s mumbling words that don’t make full sentences, sounds that are variations of _Derek_ and _fuck_ and _love you_. He drops his arms and smooshes his face into the pillows when Derek pulls his fingers from his body and the lube cap snicks open.

He presses in maddeningly slow and Stiles writhes to get Derek inside him quicker. It’s far from the first time they’ve done this; he knows his limits. Once Derek has pressed into the hilt, the alpha starts muttering filth into Stiles' ears before pulling out slowly and slamming back in. Stiles spreads his legs wider if only to get Derek just that much deeper into his body, breathing through clenched teeth as Derek starts to jerk him off in tandem.

It’s how they made it through the first time without Derek running away or Stiles having a panic attack. He didn’t tell Derek he was a technically a virgin until the alpha’s tongue was pressingly teasingly at his hole; Stiles had drawn his knees to his chest in fear Derek would stop. Instead Derek kissed him, all teeth and tongue, listed the things he wanted to do to Stiles, talked about his _fucking perfect_ mouth and hands. Stiles was so wrapped up that by the time Derek had slid into him, he wasn’t scared.

Now Derek’s fucking into him with purpose, one hand gripping bruises into his hip, the other tangled with Stiles’ and pining him to the bed. Stiles keens beneath him, eager to just get off. Derek lets go of his hand and pulls entirely out before pressing back in. Stiles moans and angles his ass higher. It’s enough that Derek grazes his prostate every few thrusts and Stiles comes with a hand around his cock and lip between his teeth.

He doesn’t have a luxury of a gentle afterglow. Derek is still fucking into him ruthlessly, probably more earnest now that Stiles is clenched tighter around his cock. Stiles rolls his hips in time, ignoring the flares of aftershock in pursuit of pushing Derek over the edge. He does some minutes afterwards, drawling Derek’s name lightly as the alpha licks at the bites he’s littered over Stiles’ skin.

Derek trails kisses down his back before easing out, fingers catching the slick rim of his hole. Stiles chokes before rolling over, flushed from the chest up and glaring. Derek just smirks and pulls him towards the bathroom, starts the shower, turns Stiles so he can look at himself in the mirror. He knows Derek gets off on how much he can mark him where people can see and any wolf would be able recognize the marks as a symbol of being taken. Stiles runs his fingers across the fresh hickeys, catches Derek’s eyes glowing red behind him, and steps into the shower without another word. He winds up pressed against the glass door, legs around Derek’s waist as the man brings them both off with his hand.

By the time Stiles returns to coherency, they’re lying on top of the sheets but beneath the blanket, the comforter tossed somewhere atop the pile of dirty laundry. Derek’s running his fingers up and down Stiles’ back, underneath the shirt Stiles stole from the closet to sleep in. Stiles is warm beneath the blanket and pressed against a werewolf, despite the heating barely running. He shifts to rest his head against his hand, elbow propped against the pillows. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Stiles hums as Derek's fingers skim across his hip. “Don’t think I forgot.”

“It’s nothing special. It doesn’t change anything in the grand scheme of things.”

“I woke up everyone up and instead of wanting to know where we were, Scott shoved his face in my armpit and asked why I smelled like you.”

Derek pulls his hand from beneath Stiles to lay his stomach. He rolls his eyes as Stiles continues to stare at him, glaring with all his might.

“You drove to the loft after I called you so you could voice your complaints about me stealing family time with your dad. I told you to leave and you demanded I make you coffee.” Stiles raises an eyebrow, squinting one eye. “You pushed your way in, bitched the entire time, and grabbed the travel mug Isaac broke but washed and stuck back in the cabinet.”

“I spilled coffee all over myself.”

“It’s not that far of a stretch of the imagination, not when it comes to you.”

“Don’t be mean,” Stiles chides, poking a finger into the alpha’s ribs. “Doesn’t explain why I was wearing your shirt.”

“You whined until I gave you one of mine and I gave in because it was four thirty and listening to you was testing.”

“So this is my fault.”

“Yeah.”

“I had my shirt, though. It was in my bag of crap when I get home.”

“You took it with you. Peter dropped everything off when he was on his way back.”

“That’s unsettling.” Stiles makes a face and rolls onto his back, glancing at Derek from the corner of his periphery. “What about the note?”

“I wrote that before you even got to Beacon Hills and was going to leave it on the Jeep. We hadn’t talked about things and I didn’t want you to spend the weekend stressing out over it. Peter must have seen it before I sent him to make sure you were all set and took it with him.”

“Peter’s a creep.”

“Sorry.”

Derek moves until he’s half draped across Stiles, arm tucked against his side and the other underneath his head. Stiles yawns, eyes drifting from where the television has turned off to the open closet where his clothes are now hanging. Somewhere in the house there’s a chorus cheering that Stiles can barely decipher, followed by a crash. He just smiles, closes his eyes, and lets sleep overtake him.

When he wakes up, Derek’s side of the bed is empty but there’s a note on his pillow. ‘ _We ran out of coffee. I went to find somewhere that’s still open. If I’m not back by the time you leave, I’ll see you at dinner with your father. Love you, - D_ ’. Stiles squirms until he’s on Derek’s side of the bed, burying beneath the covers to feel what residual heat the alpha left.

And yeah, this was completely worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Some things that happened but I didn't go into because it was getting too long and I felt like I was dragging it out: Derek met with the Sheriff and Ms. McCall so he could talk to them about Stiles moving in with him because he’s respectful like that. The Sheriff is okay with this because Melissa is planning on moving into the Stilinski household anyways whenever Scott proposes to Allison so they can have her home. The Sheriff knows it would be a little uncomfortable for Stiles to live there with Melissa there, and yeah, he'd be fine with it after time, but if he moved in with Derek it wouldn't be a problem. Stiles finds out about it all after he goes back for winter semester and is embarrassed his dad agreed to everything. The Sheriff laughs and asks if Stiles regrets it, which he totally doesn’t but that’s not the point.
> 
> Other things: I kind of have it bad for JR Bourne and Chris Argent and I wanted to make everyone happy, so he’s somewhat gotten over his inherent dislike of werewolves so he won’t lose his daughter. Until S3 starts, I really don't know what happened to Erica and Jackson (I've avoided any spoilers related to them), so I went under the basis that they did leave for a while but eventually came back.
> 
> Isaac's my favorite and nothing will change that. Lydia's a BAMF and her becoming good friends with Stiles in S3 is something I really really want. Also, I couldn't find what type of car she drives listed anywhere so I picked a generic silver hatchback. We don't know Stiles' real first name and I am too uncreative to think one up. Legit, I have a favorite fork and think that would just be one of those funny quirks Derek would have.
> 
> This is all a far cry from plausibility. I can’t really justify why Peter would do what he did and even though I made it seem like everyone accepted his apology rather quickly, they don’t. Peter doesn’t show his face at the house for months unless absolutely has to. He also buys everyone elaborate, expensive graduation gifts. Stiles gets a new laptop and subscriptions to four academic history journals.
> 
> This wasn’t even supposed to be this long, but then plot happened and my headcanons started leaking out. If you couldn’t tell, I have a thing for tattoos. Specifically, tattoos and how they bind groups of people together. It’s a theme I used to write all the time in another fandom and never really got over.
> 
> I have a lot more headcanon for this fic. Literally. Maybe I’ll write a post about it on tumblr. Who knows.
> 
> The title of this comes from a song by OK Go.
> 
> Feel free to come say hello on [tumblr](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com)!


End file.
